Scars and Stretchmarks
by Mollylyn
Summary: She hadn't planned it would be like this, but she's got his attention and now all she can do is say it. Somewhat AU, kind of a post season 4 possibility type deal. Rated T for language
1. Mile Markers

**A/N: Ok a few things.  
><strong>**1 - I started writing this in some weird style or tense that I'm not big on and I'm not sure how much I like it but it's staying. It alternates between Sam and Jules POVs, mostly separated by chapter but occasionally one chapter will have both. I'm aware of it, don't worry.  
>2 - This fic is currently written up to and including chapter 12. I'll post once a week (How's Wednesday's work for that?) in the interest of giving myself time to write later chapters ahead of time. If I'm feeling generous, or complete the story before I'm done posting existing chapters, I'll speed up that schedule. Still might throw in a Sunday night posting, IF reviews permit.<br>3 - Spike and Natalie are together. I like them together, it lets me play with big brother Sam and the issues that come with his friend dating his sister (you'll see).  
><strong>**4 - This chapter: starts with a teaser. Haha. Then it's the oneshot I never got around to writing, set directly after _Priority of Life_ and therefore may contain _Spoliers_. **

* * *

><p>She didn't cry. Couldn't. She cried too much these days. She cried when the giant elastic finally gave way in the front of her jeans, cried in the fitting room when she realized she needed 3 sizes bigger. Cried when Sam made her watch that damn dog movie, cried when the little boy in the commercial for back pain medication got to play catch with his grandfather. She cried that morning when she burnt her toast, and then cried a little more when Sam offered her his. She had gone from the strong badass SRU officer to a sniffling sobbing mess in a matter of months. But this time she didn't cry.<p>

This wasn't about burnt toast or a poorly stitched pair of pants.

This was Sam.

* * *

><p><strong>nearly two years earlier…<strong>

Its quiet. Well, she supposes, its as quiet as it can get. Theres the dull hum of electricity, the result of fluorescent lights and too many monitoring machines for her taste. Somewhere down the hall a cart's wheels screech, closely followed by the squeaking of rubber soled shoes on the hard linoleum floors. Aside from that, the only thing she hears is her own breathing, which tells her she's the only one in the room.

Waking up alone - certainly not ideal.

Tentatively opening her eyes she confirms it. There's no one else there.

The bed is oddly angled from the window, so she can't see out of it properly, but from where she lays she recognizes the glow of the setting sun, a sign that hours have passed since she was last awake. Shifting in her reclined position the dull, yet very real, pain in her arm resurfaces and the day comes back to her.

The call, the lab, the gun, the explosion, the anthrax.

The thoughts of it set off a small panic signal she wasn't sure she had. She can hear the machine next to her increase its beeps as her pulse begins to race, and she knows its time to calm herself down. _Sniper breathing, slow it down._

Sam. Where the hell is Sam?

She thinks back to the lab. He was there when she came out of the chamber, he helped her to the gurney, guided her down onto it. Told her he loves her.

So where the fuck is he now?

Panic is replaced with annoyance as she examines the empty chair in the corner of the room. By her best guess team one had to be off shift by now, and there's no reason why he shouldn't be there, his ass blistering from the visibly uncomfortable plastic coating of the well worn foam padding. For someone who claims to love her…

It suddenly occurs to her that he's not the only one not there. No one is. Not Spike, or Raf, or Ed, or even Sarge. Where the hell is her team?

It's a selfish thought, and she knows it, but this is what they do. Someone gets injured, and they all run to the bedside, they all do what they can. Ed gets shot, and they all make it their mission to catch the bastard who did it and bring him to justice. Ed's wife has a baby, and they all pace in the hallway until they can see her. So what, just because she's not having a baby means they don't come to see her? And now that they didn't have to chase down the fucker that put her in this position they don't care? Alright, so there was no fucker, just a guy that got screwed by a multimillion dollar company and took it upon himself to seek vengeance.

Still. The fact remains that she got anthrax, _and_ almost bled out because some chunk of a shelf decided to make it's home in her artery, and they aren't there.

She checks the door - she's not in quarantine. She can see the signs in the hallway indicating visiting hours, and finally finds a clock on the wall which tells her visiting hours are not over. Team one is quickly running out of excuses for not being there.

She sighs and tries to get more comfortable without jostling the IV in her arm. During her previous hospital stay she got quite familiar with the different types of medications, from pain killers to the brief course of antibiotics they gave her in order to starve off infection from the bullet. A glance up tells her she's once again on antibiotics. These ones have a longer name, likely meaning they're much more potent - those are definitely for the anthrax. She wonders if she keeps getting hurt if her immune system will disappear completely.

The other bag is full of painkillers and she smiles at the thought that she might be alone, but at least she can get high. That thought alone is enough to convince her to hit the call button so she can ask the nurse to lower the dose.

The nurse is a petit blonde, nearly fifteen years her junior, and she wonders for a moment if she should be letting her anywhere near her. But the girl is sweet and has a familiar face, tells her what dose she's changing it to as if its supposed to mean something to her, and lets her know that if she needs it she'll turn it back up for her.

Before leaving she checks the chart hanging from the footboard and jots something down.

"Is there anything else I can do while I'm here?"

She shakes her head no and the nurse smiles, closing the folder and putting it back in its place.

Reaching the door the nurse glances over her shoulder. "I'm around the floor so just beep. Oh, and that blonde guy is back."

Jules' head shoots up and she realizes why the nurse looks familiar - she was here last time. She was definitely here last time. _Back. Blonde guy is back…_

"Sam?" she says aloud, just as he appears in the doorway, smile on his face, shopping bag in his hands.

"Whoa, getting a little psychic there?"

Relieved, she relaxes fully against the average quality mattress. "Hi," is all she manages to say.

He smiles, pulling the ass blistering chair from the corner closer to the bed. "Hi."

She blinks a few times as she looks at him skeptically, trying to decide how to ask without sounding desperate. "I woke up and you weren't here." Fail.

His smile fades and the guilt on his face is clear as he sets the shopping bag on the floor next to him. "I'm sorry about that."

She waits while he fiddles with his coat before finally deciding to take it off and hang it on the back of the chair.

"There was some stuff going on at the barn." She sees him swallow, likely to ward off nerves as he fills her in on the afternoon's events. The name Toth sets off the panic signal, though the nurse must have turned down the volume because she barely notices the increase in beeps on the monitor next to her. She sits in silence, taking in each shocking detail. At the mention of the honeymoon conversation her only feeling is guilt - not guilt because she kept something from the team, but guilt because she started the conversation and blew their cover.

"Oh," she says as he tells her about Toth's offer to make an appeal, though her doubt is as strong as her hatred of hospitals.

"Anyway, so the Boss is facing suspension, though that's his choice because apparently he doesn't trust his own judgment, and we'll find out next week if we're both still on team one. How are you feeling?"

She's no longer upset over the fact that she woke up alone, but now she's full of anxiety over the splitting up of her team, her family. "I hate hospitals."

He smirks, glad that she's feeling well enough to complain about their surroundings.

"They're just so depressing."

He sighs, sliding the chair closer to the head of the bed, tugging the shopping bag over as he does. "You can't think of it like that."

She raises an eyebrow. When she was shot he would simply nod, tell her she'd be home soon. Now he challenges her crappy attitude, a sign, she thinks, that their relationship has matured. She laughs a little as he tells her how hospitals are unavoidable, first because they tend to bookend a life, then because they weave themselves into it at all the important points, something like mile markers along the highway. She just rolls her eyes. He's starting to sound like a greeting card, or maybe a cheesy children's book character. "Besides, every time you wake up in a hospital it means you didn't die," he laughs, and turns his attention to the shopping bag. "Brought you some books."


	2. Fever

**A/N: Ok. So I know I dangled the possibility of a Saturday posting in front of a few of you only to not follow through. Explanation? Hellish weekend at work and forgot my usb with the story on it so I couldn't post while I was in class yesterday. So then I wasn't going to bother, but then I got a PM that essentially told me to get my act together (well, that's the meaning I took from it, though it was actually very polite and a little subtle). That said, here's a posting IN ADDITION to the chapter I'll post tomorrow. For **_**Sules**_**.**

**Bit of a time jump here… the last big one for a while. After this it moves quite slowly over the course of a few days, then picks up for a while… anyways, you'll see.**

* * *

><p>Spike sits shaking his head, furious with the results of the day's call. "No, we should have gone through the window. We had the time, it was only the second floor down from the roof, we could have been in in seconds."<p>

"And then you would have been blown up."

"Not if we had already gone in!"

Sam's response comes in addition to an eye roll, a habit he's clearly picked up from Jules. "Not that it matters, but if we had gone in we would have been better off using the door from the adjoining room. It was empty, and coming through the wall like that would have had greater element of surprise."

Frustrated, Jules shakes her head right along with Spike. "Greater surprise than coming through the window? I don't think so. Ed?"

Ed sighs. "I'm not sure it matters, neither would have got to the bomb in enough time to disarm it. Its probably better that none of us made it in." Pushing off with his feet he moves away from the table and stands up. "But window beats door, any day of the week."

The debrief itself had only lasted a matter of minutes as they all agreed the loss of the subject in an explosion, though not ideal, was the best solution they could have hoped for. The rest was simply a contest to see who could have come up with the best hypothetical entrance strategy.

* * *

><p>Showers out of the way, the team transitions onto a new conversation and Sam is barely listening. Having pulled on a fresh shirt, he runs his hands over his face, the cool metal of his wedding ring surprising his warm cheek. He gives a tired smile - its still a new feeling, but somehow he doesn't think that the feel that that ring gives will fade any time soon. Its the same feeling he had when she'd said yes, the same feeling he gets each time he gets to introduce her as <em>Jules, my wife<em>. Its the same feeling he had the night they told the team they were getting married, minus the nausea from the nerves.

"What about you, Samtastic? You in?"

He turns his head in surprise, he had only been vaguely listening to Spike and isn't sure what the answer is.

"Sam? You coming to the Goose? Raf's buying because of that stumble on the obstacle course earlier."

"Oh, no thanks," he tells them with a smile. "Got dinner plans."

The guys nod and someone makes a poorly crafted crack about how Jules can have his seat, even though they all know the plans are with her.

Laughing at the way they are carrying on, Sam turns back to his locker to finish getting dressed. He notices his antiperspirant is getting low, and reminds himself to stop for some on their way home. He puts on his belt and some clean socks and begins to pack up his gym bag for the night. Double checking the team one shift schedule he smiles inwardly - tomorrow they start evenings, so not only is there no need to go to bed insanely early, but he and Jules can stay in bed late if they want.

They won't, because she's the biggest morning person he knows, and, instead of taking Sarge's offer to let her come in late for a day shift, she's booked her re-qualification physical exam for before work tomorrow.

"Ready to go?"

He nearly jumps at the sound of her voice, simply because he was so focused on the idea of sleeping in that he forgot momentarily where he was. "Yeah."

They walk out together, wishing Winnie a good night as they pass her at the communications desk. It's been over a year since Toth's last visit and they're finally getting into a routine. They've managed to prove themselves over and over again to the chief of police and Commander Halloran since there has been no shortage of high-risk calls for team one. They've had to prove themselves to each other more times than either of them would have liked through the priority of life code. Each and every time after one of them is forced to _do the right thing_ they go home and do nothing but be together, thankful for the fact that they're still there. At one point the Chief had a chat with the two of them in which he told them that as grateful as he is that they remain professional to that extent, he doesn't believe it can be good for their relationship, and that if Sergeant Parker suspects its taking its toll it will be up to him to take action to prevent personal issues from hindering their work. Its a daunting accusation because the logic behind it seems so solid, and yet Sam swears it has done nothing but bring them closer.

* * *

><p>As they work on dinner she wonders when they became such domestics. He's chopping vegetables, she's prepping the chicken to go into the pan. As he moves on to the onions she laughs at the tears forming in his eyes.<p>

"I told you I could take care of those."

"I can do it… why couldn't we just get chinese?"

"Because last time you picked up chinese I got food poisoning, and I can't be sick for my physical tomorrow."

She gives him a jab to the ribs as she sees him smirk at the memory. She knows he enjoyed taking care of her that time just a little too much, even wonders if maybe he got the tainted food on purpose.

Slices of chicken are dropped in the pan and she takes over the onions while he goes to wash his burning eyes.

"Grab the rice while you're passing the pantry," she tells him, but he's already got it and is measuring out water to cook it in.

He grins. "I'm just that good."

He's just that cocky.

It's why she loves him.

They were together for well over a year before they got married, and they've now been married a few months, yet she's still surprised by how well they get along. Every time after a tough call he breaks a little. She breaks a little. Every time one of them has to pull the trigger, or deal with the fact that this time their negotiation just wasn't going to cut it, they head home and try to cope. Together. If one of them is breaking the other takes the lead, makes dinner, guides their partner to the sofa or the bed, tells them they did everything right and it's ok to feel what they're feeling. Since their roles within the team often lead her to be negotiator, him to be in a sierra position, their heartbreak often overlaps. Strange as it may be, they have a system for that too.

She finds it odd that they have that kind of relationship - one where they're constantly breaking and putting each other back together again; constantly sealing the cracks appearing in their armour. It doesn't bother her though, because, for some reason, she always feels she's that much stronger after it happens. After he takes care of her, or she him. Always feels like they are stronger. Together.

She's not sure when they'll have children. There aren't any immediate plans to do so, although its certainly not off the table. It comes up, from time to time - they both know they want it - they just haven't been able to nail down a time to do so. They both flip flop between the idea that it's not the right time, and the idea that there will never be a right time. They've made a deal - set a date on the calendar even - that if they haven't decided to go for it by that date then the calendar will decide for them. It's circled, underlined, and highlighted. She wants kids before she's too old to _have_ kids, he wants kids while he's still young enough to play sports with them. Still, the subject comes up quite a bit and they both know they have baby fever, just don't want to be the one to pressure the other into something they may not be ready for. He says he wants to wait until the basement is finished, because paint fumes and babies don't mix. She agrees, mostly because she knows she can't paint while she's pregnant and doesn't want to have to trust Sam with finishing it.

There's just one more coat of paint and some carpet to put down.

After dinner they head to the living room. They don't watch a lot of tv, or even spend a lot of time on the couch for that matter. Tonight though there's a game on and he can actually stay up late enough to watch all of it, thanks to their evening shift the next day. She has little interest in watching a game on tv, but there is a book she's been meaning to finish, so she settles in next to him on the couch and reads away.

At some point she tires of her book and lets it close, flopping it down in her lap. She stretches out on the couch, using Sam's lap as a pillow and the opposite arm of the couch as a footrest. Sam, not taking his eyes off the tv, adjusts a pillow in his lap to make her more comfortable. His arm falls across her collarbone, drawing circles on her shoulder with his fingers as she attempts to watch the game. Something about the announcers' voices soothes her, to the point where she wonders if she was conditioned to fall asleep to hockey games as an infant. She certainly wouldn't put it past her father.

Instead, she gazes off into space, enjoying the feel of his fingertips as they wander somewhat aimlessly from her shoulder, across her collarbone, and back again.

"Whatcha thinkin' about?"

"Hmm?" She jolts back to the present. She's not sure when exactly he stopped watching the game and started watching her. "_Stuff_."

He nods, smiles because they both know he can guess just what _stuff_ that is and yet she's not all that likely to tell him without some probing. So he plays along, turning his gaze back to the game as his fingers continue their dance across her skin. "What kind of _stuff_?" he asks, trying to sound innocent and oblivious.

She sighs dreamily, resuming her earlier daze like state. "Baby _stuff_."

"Oh yeah?" He says it like he's clueless, like he hadn't already figured as much. His efforts are useless though, as she catches the smile that plays at the corners of his mouth at the mention of a baby. Of _their_ baby.


	3. Trucked

**A/N: This chapter is one of my faves from this story (at least of those I've written so far, which fyi is up to 14). It's based on an idea I had a while back and have been dying to weave into a story somewhere. Chapter 4 though is even more my favourite... maybe I use the word favourite too loosely. Oh, and you'll have to forgive me for the POV in this chapter - it's mostly Jules, but I had to throw a little Sarge in there. Only a little. And for good reasons, I promise. **

* * *

><p>She still hates hospitals.<p>

She spends too much time there. In the past 5 years she's spent more time there than she cares to think about. So much time she's somewhat grateful that her doctor's office is actually in the hospital. At least, she figures, that way when she comes in on a stretcher with her ailment of the year they have mere metres to walk to find her full medical history.

She shifts as she tries to make herself comfortable on the exam table, near-paper hospital gown making ghastly crinkling noises as she does so. She tells herself she's not nervous, has no reason to be. It's like she told Sam: she's got this. She's in the shape of a woman ten years younger, and, aside from that pesky incident with the anthrax, she hasn't been sick in a good four years. The gunshot wound is long since healed, the work of a plastic surgeon having rendered the scar near non-existent. She knows where it should be, and in her mind its still there, but she can at least pretend, right?

The eye exam had been a breeze, she's always had the best vision possible and today was no exception. The scale didn't bother her in the least - if she's gained any weight its surely all muscle, which she would be nothing but proud of. She toys with the bandaid on her arm. She can tell there won't be a bruise underneath, and silently thanks God that the nurse knows what's she's doing. Last time she had blood taken they gave her rookie nurse, who took a good four stabs to find the vein and left a nasty bruise in her wake. The blood tests don't scare her, don't make her nervous in the slightest. She knows they won't find anything - after all, she's a health nut who works out 7 days a week, 52 weeks a year. She's not afraid of needles, been shot and poisoned and injured too many times to be concerned about such small things.

What bothers her is the smell. That disinfectant, all too clean and not at all comforting, sterile smell of the hospital. Doesn't matter where she is, one whiff of that and she might as well be a war vet in a flashback. Something about it strikes her panic button and she has to make a conscious effort to remember that nothing terrible has happened this time.

She's glad that she found time to do this without missing any time at work, though she's somewhat annoyed that Sarge has recently deemed physicals a mandatory aspect of their yearly re-qualifications. She figures it has to do with Wordy's departure from the SRU, that Sarge is simply promoting early detection or something so that history doesn't repeat itself if Toth should ever return. She assumes thats why there's now a neurological exam portion of the form her doctor is required to submit to the department when they're done there today. It still amuses her that they'd asked her to pee in a cup before she was sent to the exam room, and that the nurse had questioned her on the possibility of pregnancy when she led her in there. It was only in the past few years that that became a routine part of the examination process, and she wonders if perhaps there was a female version of Wordy somewhere who dropped a baby she didn't realize she was carrying while out on a call. The idea makes her smirk because, frankly, how clueless could a woman be?

Her doctor lets himself in, a simple hey is all the greeting they need. She's there strictly for business, and he knows it. He makes small talk, asks her how work is, how married life is, how the basement renovations are coming. He throws in small explanations of what he's doing while he does it, blood pressure, heart rate, quick exam of the back of her throat. She's been going to the same doctor since she moved to Toronto and she knows the routine, so the explanation is merely a formality. She appreciates his professionalism; its likely why she still goes to see him.

She tells herself it has nothing to do with the fact that he's the spitting image of George Clooney. She represses the memory of her first appointment with him, way back whenever, when she decided she wanted him as her doctor before he even opened his mouth to introduce himself. One too many ER episodes, she'd scolded herself as she left his office that day. It wasn't like she wanted to date him; she needed a local doctor and if he was both eye candy and professionally competent she would learn to live with it. A real sacrifice, to be sure.

A few years back, bullet in her side, morphine in her veins, she had revealed to Sam her reasons for choosing that particular doctor. He'd shaken it off, as far as she could tell in her drug induced state at the time, though even this morning as she left the house she could tell he was mildly uncomfortable with the image of her wearing a skimpy hospital gown in front of the man.

"The lab is taking their sweet time with the blood work… I told them you're a cop who likes to shoot stuff and that seemed to speed them up some but they still haven't gotten back to me."

She smiles. It's comments like that that keep her coming back to him.

That and his face.

"In the meantime I see no reason why you shouldn't go to work today. Sorry about that," he smirks, and she gathers that he knows who he's talking to and how little she cares for his opinion on the matter.

* * *

><p>She realizes as she pulls into the parking lot that the physical must have taken longer than expected because she's definitely late, and has probably already missed team one's start of shift meeting. She kicks herself for stopping for gas, though she's not sure what difference that really makes now. She fumbles for her purse as she swings her jeep into the first spot she finds, and silently curses as she hears her phone ringing. Its likely the boss, or Sam for that matter, wondering where the hell she is. Cold October wind whirling she pulls her hair out of her eyes and checks the display, determined not to answer it if it is. No point in answering now that she's mere steps away from the front door.<p>

Its not a number she recognizes, but seeing as it's her work cell she decides to answer it because there are only a select few people who even have that number.

* * *

><p>She's barely walked through the doors of their floor and she can already hear the alarm sounding and Winnie's voice announcing a hot call - a woman threatening to jump off an overpass along the 404. She gives Sarge a nod as she bolts for her locker room, changing at record speed and meeting the team in the gun cage as they pack up their gear. Sam shoots her a questioning glance as to why she's late - he clearly has no idea that a woman's physical is different from a man's - and she rolls her eyes at him. She confirms the last piece of equipment on the list to Ed and the team starts off to their trucks.<p>

Jules hangs back, giving a slight nod to her boss. "Sarge?"

He simply nods, not looking up from the map he's carefully examining on his PDA as they continue their walk to the garage, hanging back only slightly from the rest of the team. "You want lead on this?"

"Actually, I need you to truck me," she says quietly, adjusting her gun in it's holster.

Sarge's head pops up to examine her face, the shock of her stepping back from the chance to talk someone down clear on his face.

"Please," she adds.

In any other situation he might have taken the time to tell her its not necessary to say please, that even though it took him by surprise he wasn't about to say no. Instead he just nods, like its the most obvious answer in the world because it is. "Of course."

They automatically get into the same truck. No one questions it because they know the negotiators are going to be all shop talk the whole way there and they might as well be face to face while they do so.

Sarge adjusts his earpiece as he doles out instructions to his team. "Jules will be my second from the command truck, Spike back me up, Ed, Raf, and Sam on crowd control."

Ed, being team leader and essentially a permanent check on his boss' decisions squints his eyes in a questioning manner. "Boss, subject is a woman, wouldn't it be best to have Jules talk to her?"

Sarge shakes his head, exhaling hard. "Not necessary Eddie, I'll take this one."

End of discussion.

Spike begins giving the team the run down on the area in question, and they devise a plan to get the uni's to redirect traffic and a place to start with identifying the subject. Raf and Sam begin listing nearest cross roads, nearby areas, anything that may help prevent any surprises while they're working.

Still listening from the speaker within the truck, Sarge shuts off his personal radio, Jules following his lead.

"Does Sam know?"

She shakes her head, too nervous to speak even though her mic is off.

Sarge nods, pursing his lips obviously because he's not sure he wants to be all business right now. "And this is new information?" He hopes so, because if not then she's in for a lecture on unnecessary risk taking.

"Yep." She's short with her response, because really, what else can she say on the way to a call?

He gives a nod indicating the conversation is over, and she turns her radio back on. He stops as his hand reaches the switch on his own, turning with a small but sincere smile to face at her from his position in the driver's seat. "Congratulations, by the way."

She simply returns the smile because with that his radio is back on and they're both fully miked, fully linked to the rest of their team, every word being recorded on an autotranscriptor.

* * *

><p>Its forty five minutes later and the woman is still on a ledge. From her position in the truck Jules has been able to find the woman's name, age, and a fairly detailed family history, but Sarge is still trying to reach her. Somehow the <em>connect<em> part isn't coming easily for him today. Maybe its because the woman is simply unreachable, or maybe its because he's distracted.

Ed is practically pacing from his position along the perimeter as he once again questions his Boss' decision. "Boss, I think now would be a good time to bring Jules in."

Sarge gives a small shake of his head, he's too close to the subject and speaking into his comm right now would only confuse her.

Jules knows. "No Ed, he's got this. If he backs out now we're back to square one, and that square is a whole lot closer to the edge than when we first got here. Boss, I've got something here. Her brother, Marcus, he died about three months ago. Since then she's been let go from her job, and according to a neighbour the eviction notice is on her apartment door as a result. She's been crushed by loss and its taking its toll on her life in the worst ways."

Sarge smiles inwardly - what would he do without Jules? He's oddly pleased by the news of the woman's loss - he knows what its like to lose someone. Finally, he finds a connection.

The team finds their way to the briefing room to debrief. Disagreements about who should negotiate have subsided, and, aside from the formalities that come with a debrief, the team is practically celebrating. The woman had come down off the overpass, no small miracle given how long Sarge had been talking to her. The mood is light as it always is on days like this. Jules vaguely remembers someone once telling her that the ability to restore a person's faith in life, in their self, is a challenge at the best of times, a greater accomplishment when it's a stranger. She figures it was one of the older team members who retired shortly after she earned her spot on team one, though at this point it sounds remarkably like something the Sarge she knows would say. That belief is not lost by the team, who gets the formalities out of the way quickly so that they can forge plans for a visit to the Goose to celebrate their victory.

Raf's got a new ride, one he's been dying to show Sam, so he offers his teammate a ride since Jules will likely take longer to get changed. Sam glances at Jules, who smirks and gives a small nod to indicate she approves, that she won't be mad if she comes out of the locker room to find he's already gone.

She's not _his_ mother, after all.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Hope this wasn't too predictable. Or if it was, I hope it's at least enjoyable in spite of it. Why not review and let me know? ;) **


	4. Revelation

**A/N: (Note has spoilers for season 3) Just watched **_**Follow the Leader**_** and I definitely JUST picked up on Jules scowling at Sam for almost getting blown up at the end and him grabbing her shoulder… Does that count as Jam or am I grasping at seeds here? I know how things turn out given that it was like 2 seasons ago now, but I still got all excited about it. Oh, and I hate Steve. I'm sure he's a nice guy, but he's totally just that sap that got in the way for a few episodes before they shot his sorry ass. Anyways, here's chapter 4. **

**Posted early for **_**Trish**_**, because not being above grovelling is awesome LOL**

* * *

><p>Jules takes her time in the shower, takes her time getting dressed. Her head is spinning, thoughts racing at the speed of light. Her tightest jeans still fit, a little baggy in fact, and she's struck with the questions she's been avoiding. How had she not realized before? When was her last… she can't remember<em>. <em>Suddenly she regrets the judgment she threw at the hypothetical female Wordy cop that provoked that part of the annual physical. Sam. She needs to talk to Sam but he's likely already gone, busy discussing cylinders and rims and whatever the hell else interests men about cars.

She's good with cars, can change a tire, has changed the oil in her jeep once just to prove she could, but when it comes down to fawning over a new car she's only really interested in the colour, and maybe how comfortable it is inside.

Her jeep is fricken sweet, as far as she's concerned.

Jeep. Oh god, is a jeep a good idea at this point? Sure, there are airbags and roll bars and it's built for off-roading, but there are a lot of cars that would be so much more practical.

She rolls her eyes at her own reflection - if she's panicking now she can only imagine what's to come. For Pete's sake, she hasn't even talked to Sam yet. _Pete._ Now there's a name she won't be considering. Shaking her head she decides she needs to get out of that room; out of her own head, really.

Most of the team has already left for the Goose when she emerges from her locker room. Sarge is around, she knew he would be. In spite of the fact that they're really celebrating _his_ victory, he's stayed behind to finish his reports.

Or maybe he's been waiting for her, because as she reaches the briefing room door he's suddenly uninterested in whatever he was reading and it's being slipped into the secure file. He smiles as she asks if he's coming, if he needs a ride. He's brought his car today, even with its ever blinking check engine light, and so he declines the offer.

They drive in their separate cars to the Goose, parking next to each other in the lot. As they get out she hunts for her cell phone - the damn thing likes to sneak out of her purse and disappear under the seats of the jeep - and he rounds his car to see if he can give her a hand. When she finally finds the blasted device, which was actually in the depths of her purse, they both laugh because its the sort of thing the guys tease her about. _Purse so big she can't find a damn thing._

"When are you talking to Sam?"

She wonders why he's asking. He's probably curious, she would be, but he probably also needs to know so that he can start plotting to fill her spot while she's off. Really, it could be either one.

Still, it catches her off guard because she's unsure of the answer herself. "After this?"

His smile tells her curiosity was definitely a part of it, though he's definitely still in Boss mode as he responds. "Once that's settled we'll need to sort out some things."

Things like her role on the team. She's not sure when the last time an SRU team member was in this particular position, and gets the distinct feeling that Sarge isn't overly sure of what happens next. Its a little unnerving, though she's not terribly surprised.

They take their places at the table the rest of the team has already taken over. From the pitcher on the table Jules gathers that the waitress has already been by, and the fact that its half empty tells her there won't be an offer of any for her. There are menus being thrown about, for reasons unknown since they could practically recite it from memory by now.

"Alright, wings: who's in?" Raf is grinning. Ever since he realized Jules is way into hot wings he's been all too thrilled to celebrate with her.

She raises her hand slightly, a thoughtful look on her face. "Mild or hot?" she asks with a smirk.

The question is moot. They all know they're ordering hot. They haven't yet tried the suicide wings. Jules figures its because there's something creepy about SRU cops celebrating a successful negotiation with _suicide_ wings. Maybe she's attributing meaning to nothing, maybe Raf is just too big of a wuss, but she's content with hot so she doesn't ask.

The waitress, perky blonde bitch, saunters over and takes their food orders, no note pad necessary. She's doing that thing again. That thing where she rests her hand on Sam's chair and practically drapes herself in his face. She wonders if the woman is blind or just ignorant - don't women check for rings before flirting anymore? She hopes to God it's just an effort to boost her tips. Sam either doesn't notice or he's pretending not to because in that second he's tossing an arm around Jules and is filling her in on the details of Raf's ride.

Blonde bitch turns her attention to her, and she tries not to look too smug as the woman appears somewhat disappointed at the position of Sam's arm. "Drink?"

"Water's fine, thanks."

The men groan their judgment and she laughs it off, plays it cool. "Someone has to drive home," she smirks, throwing a thumb in his direction as Sam polishes off his beer. Its not all that unusual for her not to drink with them. For reasons she's only really shared with Sam, she won't drive if she's had anything to drink. She know's her personal limit, knows at which point her drinks would cross the legal limit, she simply won't drink and drive. At all.

Sam gives a sheepish smile and they both laugh. She's not mad, he drives for her all the time. Even adheres to her way, sticks to Coke for the night and drives completely sober.

The wings are gone and blonde bitch is offering to bring another pitcher. The group declines - they have the day off tomorrow but spending the entire night out is not in their plans. Ed's got to get home to Sophie, Sarge to Marina. While Spike and Natalie aren't living together, Jules knows him well enough that after the amount of beer he's had he'll show up at Nat's door later tonight. Its not that Spike is into booty calls, he just has a tendency to get lonely after too many beers. He used to stumble by her house before she and Sam moved in together. He then showed up at their house a few times, but after a chat with Sam about what happens, or more accurately what doesn't happen, when Spike shows up at their house in the middle of the night he stopped. Or at least lessened the frequency of the visits.

She's getting anxious. That waitress said she'd be by with their bills ages ago, and Sam is still deep in conversation with Ed. She's beginning to worry that he won't want to leave the bar tonight. Beginning to worry that someone might get the genius idea to swing by a Timmies for a sober up coffee as a group and they'll never go home. Its amazing, she thinks, how a group of people who spend so much time together can still have so much to talk about.

Sam's half wasted. He's still capable of walking, of course, just wasted enough that he's all giggles and hugs. The bills are paid in slumps of bills piled on their table and they head for the door as a group. Sam and Spike bust out a chorus of what she's sure is a show tune, and she tells him its about time he be getting home. Sam pouts a little, before crushing his teammates one by one in sloppy hugs. She's next, giving quick and classy half hugs to her team as she says goodnight, making sure everyone has a way home.

She guides Sam to her jeep, closing the door behind him as he all but stumbles in. Sarge shoots her a smirk and they both know what he's thinking. She rolls her eyes and raises a brow, highlighting the childish antics of her husband.

* * *

><p>He's all chatter on the ride home. He's got big plans for that basement of theirs. Wants to get rid of the neutral tones she picked out and make it into a 'hockey themed man-cave'. She suspects Raf had something to do with that idea, but she'd never be able to prove it. It's a pretty one sided conversation as he doesn't seem to need her input on the matter, and eventually she gathers that he's noticed he's basically talking to himself because he stops talking and takes a sudden interest in the passing streetlights.<p>

She's quiet as they pull into their driveway and she shuts off her jeep. He plants a kiss on her cheek before hopping out and strolling up to the front door. She meets him there and he throws an arm around her while she fights to find the right key in the dark. It's more of a loving gesture at this point, since his giggly buzz wore off when she refused to contribute to his man-cave discussion.

Walking into the house she heads for the kitchen, setting her oversized purse on the table before pouring them each a glass of water. He sits down on a barstool at the counter where they usually eat breakfast, and downs half the glass in one go.

"Tonight was fun," he grins. "It's been a while since we all got out together."

Topping up his glass she simply nods. She's not sure how to say it and he won't shut up long enough for her to figure it out.

He slips off the chair and comes to stand in front her, nuzzling her neck as wandering hands make their way around her waist to her ass. She gives a small laugh, _same old Sam_, and listens as he begins to plan their night and the following day off. Somewhere around bubble bath with wine she cuts him off.

"Sam."

He laughs. "Alright, so maybe a shower _and_ a bath in one night is a waste of water."

She shakes her head, laughing a little. "No, its not that its just…"

She can see the look on his face change to concern. She's never actually turned down an offer like the one he's proposing and she's sure he's afraid he's done something wrong, something to upset her. "What is it? What's wrong?"

He's asking. He wants to know. She wants to tell, isn't sure how. She still hasn't had any time to think about it, hadn't planned it would be like this, but she's got his attention and now all she can do is say it.

"I'm pregnant."

**A/N: Ok, the word has been said and now it's official. So… OMG JAM BABY!**


	5. Response

**A/N: OK, so you can all be happy because this chapter is LONG (like an extra 1000 words long), so maybe it'll be enough to get you grovelling people through the next 3-7 days before I post again.  
><strong>**Have I mentioned lately how much I love reviewers? Well, I do. Seriously. When I check to see what's up on the flashpoint ff page I have two priorities: 1 - check to see if any of my faves/any new Jam fics have been posted, and 2 - see if my stories got any more reviews. Freakin highlights of my day, just fyi.  
><strong>**Oh, and I think this is like the first time I do the Sam point of view thing, so go right ahead and let me know if it's crap. Or if it's not. Oh hell, go ahead and pull a KateEals and review this note. My life is overwhelmed with school right now, so reviews are really the only thing keeping me from losing my minds.**

* * *

><p>"I'm pregnant."<p>

Her voice cracks as she says it, and there's a high pitched gasp that escapes his throat, so high that they both seem to question whether it was from her or him. He's staring her down, can't do much else right now. He feels all the muscles in his face let go, fears his mouth has fallen open and soon drool will start pouring out. His breathing quickens as he breaks his stare to blink repeatedly at her. He can't figure out whats happening. He swallows hard, tries to get a hold of himself.

"Preg…pregnant?" he squeaks.

She simply nods as hearing the word out loud seems to set off a new round of emotions within her.

He swallows in a desperate attempt to contain himself and lets out a shaky breath. That high pitched gasp comes out again as he dives into her, squishing her into an inescapable embrace. As he feels her arms return the gesture he realizes he's shaking. He's having trouble breathing, having trouble seeing. He can't tell if he's laughing or crying; likely its both. He pulls back just enough to plant a slobbery kiss on her cheek before burying his face back in her hair.

He's shaking so bad it takes him a while before he realizes she's shaking too. He pulls back once again, framing her face in his hands. She's somewhere between laughing and crying herself, and he feels compelled to wipe the tears away for her.

"This is… I just… it's…" he struggles to form words. He rests his forehead on hers as he tries to stabilize himself. "I'm so excited," he admits in a whisper between heaving breaths.

"I noticed," she tells him, her own smile reaching from ear to ear. "Me too."

Suddenly the whole day replays for him, only with a clarity that hadn't been there earlier. This is why she looked so frazzled when she arrived back at HQ, this is why she stayed in the truck.

The truck.

"Does Sarge already know?" He's hurt. Hurt because he's afraid she could have been keeping this from him, hurt because he thinks she told Sarge before him because she… he doesn't want to know why she'd do that. The look on her face tells him he's wrong, and hurt turns to confusion because now he's just a little lost in the whole thing.

He watches her give a small nod, drawing a breath to steady herself. "I got a call when I pulled into the lot at HQ after my physical… I asked Sarge to put me in the truck," she says simply.

He has so many questions, so many things to say, so many things to plan, to do. He wants to know just how pregnant she is so he can figure out exactly how long they have to get ready. He's fighting the urge to make a Jules style list of things to be done. The basement. The basement needs to be finished so that they can move his crap out of the second bedroom and store it down there. He's pissed that they already decorated the guest room, because they could have easily used that for the baby had they known it would be this soon. They need to pick a paint colour for the baby's room, need to buy furniture. Are the floors alright in there? Or should he plan to replace those too. He's thinking they should get some of that fancy lighting Jules is always going on about. He lets out a small chuckle - he's becoming his wife. He's been wondering when that was going to happen.

* * *

><p>"Jules, come on, lets go!"<p>

It's 9am and Sam's already been awake for at least 4 hours. Well, he supposes, awake isn't the best word to describe it. Awake implies he slept last night, which he's fairly certain he didn't. He spent the greater part of the night tracing the angles of Jules' stomach, trying to imagine what's happening on the other side of that perfectly toned abdomen. He'd never admit that to her though, he's not sure Jules would appreciate him carefully poking and prodding in hopes of… he's not sure what the purpose of that was.

Nevertheless, he'd spent a good 7 hours that night doing so. He supposes he slept at some point, since when they went to bed Jules was in track pants and a sweater and when she'd awoken the next morning she was in shorts and a t-shirt. He gathers that at some point he must have dozed off, at which time she woke up overheating and changed.

Now he stands, tapping his foot impatiently at the foot of the stairs, waiting on his wife.

He's trying to remember the last time he had this kind of feeling, that kid on christmas, can't sleep, can't sit still, up early the next morning and still not tired feeling. It began the night before, when she had informed him of the next day's events. As it turns out, when she'd received that phone call from the doctor's office she'd managed to get her head together enough to book an appointment for the next day. It would be nothing major, they'd informed her, simply a more specific check-up than the one she'd had the day before.

The 'nothing major' part has no bearing on Sam. For all he cares, they can walk in, have them make sure she has a pulse, and walk right back out and he'll still be thrilled. Why? Because today marks the first thing, the first _real_ thing, they will do for _their_ baby.

"You're so annoying when you're this awake."

He's grinning like a fool as she finally comes down the stairs. "I love you too. Let's go."

"I need my purse."

He groans, and she shoots him that famous Jules glare, the one that tells him to grow the hell up.

"I made the appointment for 10 because I thought _you_ would like the opportunity to sleep in on our day off. If I had my way, we would have been done there by now and I could be figuring out what to do about the basement."

She's bitchy, and he doesn't care. She's right - any other day, any other appointment and he'd still be upstairs, face down in their bed in nothing but his boxers - if that - half in a coma while she goes about doing… whatever it is she does while he sleeps.

As she emerges from the kitchen, purse in one hand, keys in the other he grins. "Can we go now?"

She smiles, a genuine smile that matches his own, and tells him yes.

* * *

><p>As expected, he's assigned the task of telling her to chill as they wait for the doctor. Why she chose a general practitioner whose office is actually <em>in<em> a hospital he'll never know, especially given the way she feels about the building.

"Will we be seeing Mr. Clooney today?" he asks her, sure she'd slap him for it if they weren't surrounded by other couples.

He's greeted with a look, one that tells him she's less impressed with the answer than the question. "No," she says, and he's mildly happy until she sighs. "There's an OB in this practice so he's sending me to him."

He studies her face for a moment, and has to ask. "Why the face?"

She sighs, shifts in her chair. He can see her eyeing the rest of the couples, making sure no one is eavesdropping. "I'm just not so cool with doctors, especially new ones who specialize in looking at… in examining…" she's making odd expressions using mostly her eyebrows, likely in hopes that he'll catch on without her having to say it, but it doesn't work. He's never felt so clueless. "Sam, the man studies lady parts for a living," she whispers.

He gives a nod and sits back in his chair. Its not an effort to relax, more a sign of defeat. He's been so pumped for this appointment he forgot about the fine details. This guy, this _doctor_, how'd she put it? _Studies lady parts for a living._ Well, thank you, Julianna, for _that _image. Now he's going to be obsessing over how this guy is essentially a paid pervert the entire time. As excited as he is for this he's now planning an exit strategy. They're in a hospital, right? Can't he just wander up to the maternity floor, find the available doctors, do some background checks and hire the one he approves of the most? Or, more likely, dislikes the least?

Too late, he realizes, as Jules smacks him over the head to get his attention. She's already standing, following the reception nurse into an office.

They aren't in the room long before there's a knock at the door and the OB lets himself in.

"Hi, I'm Doctor Brad Ryan, you can call me Brad, or Doctor Ryan, or Doc, or whatever you like. I'm guessing you're not Julianna," the man says with a smirk, turning his attention to Sam.

Suddenly Sam starts to observe the room they're in. The doctor's got the usual stuff, diagrams and plastic models of things he's never put much thought into, but then there's the personal stuff. He's got a small desk in the room, pictures of his own family, along with a bulletin board full of pictures of what he can only assume are the children of his former patients. Funnily enough, if Jules' usual doctor is George Clooney, then her OB is Noah Wyle. A gay Noah Wyle.

"Sam," he tells him, and they shake hands.

"Nice to meet you Sam. Did you know that was the most popular name in… sometime in the fifties, I believe." Sam thinks he's made a face because the doctor then smirks and continues. "I'm sorry, my partner and I are adopting a little boy. It's been nothing but names for the past few months."

Jules clears her throat, grabbing both of their attention. He's pretty sure its because she's dying to get out of that office and they're both detracting attention from the only thing that will get her out of there faster.

"That makes you Julianna," Dr Ryan smiles, turning to shake her hand. "I've had a look at the results from your physical yesterday, and congratulations, you are pregnant. Now, combine that with the timing you were able to give the nurse that brought you in here and I'm going to estimate you're only about five or six weeks in. Actually, had you not had a physical you might not have noticed for another week or two." The doctor pulls a pile of pamphlets from his file and hands them to Jules. "You might find these helpful. And these," he says, pulling out an even bigger pile, "are for you, Sam. Read them."

"Is that it?" Jules asks. She's getting impatient. They've been in the hospital for nearly half an hour now and she's no doubt running out of calm.

The doctor gets the hint and moves things along, sliding the blood pressure cuff up her arm. "I know they did this yesterday but I always like to get my own readings." Thorough. Gets the Braddock stamp of approval. The doctor looks slightly concerned, easing the stethoscope from his ear. "Is your heart rate always high?"

Sam nearly snorts back a laugh, which elicits a glare from Jules and confusion from the pervert-turned-Sam-approved doctor. "She hates hospitals. She's panicking."

"I am not panicking," she mutters.

The doctor gives a chuckle, then gives her a stern look. "Most people don't like hospitals, but I'm going to have to ask that you find a way to deal with that. I'll be needing to see you on a regular basis and you can't be reacting like this every time. Its not healthy," he says, making notes on his clip board before adding, "for you or your baby."

Jules rolls her eyes and he gives a smug grin - he's wishing he had used that same reasoning when he'd talked her down in the waiting room because, for the first time since they were married, it would have given him the opportunity to say 'I told you so.'

The rest of the appointment is mostly a blur. An ultrasound he'd rather not understand the technology or technique of, an image that made him fight the urge to cry even though he had no idea where to look or what the doctor was explaining.

The doctor hands them a couple printouts and he simply stares at it because while he has no idea _what _he's looking act, he knows he's looking at everything that matters.

"Do either of you have any questions?"

Crap. He's got loads but he's sure they're so basic they didn't even make it into the pile of flyers in his hands. Questions… alright… he must have an intelligent one…

"Should I be on vitamins or something?"

_Thats_ why he married her! He's panicking because he's got nothing to say and there she is, thinking logically enough for the both of them.

"I have a list for you, just give it to the pharmacist and she'll give you the tour of when to take what and what they're for. There's also details about those in the pamphlets."

Jules nods like that was all she wanted to know, though he suspects that's a lie. He knows she'll make him drive home so she can speed read everything the doctor gave her in the car. Meanwhile, he's still filing through his brain in a desperate attempt to recall his high school health classes. He must have an intelligent question in there somewhere…

"…great so we'll see you in a few weeks. Hopefully by then we'll be able to hear the heart beat."

Heartbeat. Now that would have been a good thing to ask about. Sam's mentally kicking himself as they walk out of the office for not thinking fast enough to come up with an intelligent question. It was the first real thing they did for their baby and he's already feeling like a failure. Poor child will probably come to him one day with a scraped knee, he'll forget to clean it before slapping a bandage on it, the kid will get gang green, Jules'll kill him. What a bright future he has.

"Sam?"

"Huh?"

"I asked what you thought of Dr Ryan."

"I like him." Seeing her roll her eyes he furrows his brow. "Don't you?"

"Of course. Seems like a nice guy, plus, he's cute."

"Cute? Jules, he's your doctor." Its not worth being offended by, he knows she's just making an observation.

"So? When the hormones kick in and I'm turned on by every guy I see I'll at least know that my doctor was cute to begin with," she smirks, looking up from one of the books she'd insisted they stop to buy. She's toying with him now… he thinks. He's going to need to read that book when she's done with it, just so he can tell when she's being serious and when she's screwing with him.

"So why the eye roll?"

"You like him because he's gay and therefore has nothing but a professional interest in my downstairs."

"Yes, thats exactly why. Now, I have a question," he asks, and she gives him a half nod without looking up from the book she's gone back to reading. "Why do all of your doctors look like characters from ER?"

She smirks, still not looking up from the book. "I didn't choose _this_ doctor, remember? Besides, why does your dentist look like Jessica Alba and wear nothing but low-cut shirts?"

He simply nods. That's the end of that conversation because he knows their answers are the same, and they both include incredibly shallow aspects of their own decision making process.


	6. JamBaby

**Disclaimer: Just in case there is any confusion, I don't own Twitter or The Lion King**

**A/N: Just in case anyone missed it, I have posted a short one-shot (**_**Midnight Visitor**_**) about that conversation between Sam & Spike that was mentioned in chapter 4. And Yes Trish, that was because you asked for that and yes, I do take requests, mostly as suggestions though so I make no promises (I won't write it if my brains won't pump out a decent story to meet the request). Ps, please ignore my quickly decreasing chapter naming skills... it's what's on the inside that counts, right?  
><strong>**btw Trish, I agree: it's totally Jules who loses out in **_**Midnight Visitor.  
><strong>_**Also, does it bother anyone else how slowly seasons are released in Canada? Can't even get season 4 on iTunes here :(  
><strong>**Oh man, another long one...**

**Chapter 6: #JamBaby**

* * *

><p>Cold tile makes for a painful contrast to the heat steadily billowing out of the vent on the floor beside her. She wonders if the moron who designed this house put it there just to piss her off. Its far too close to the toilet, making it an unnecessary heat source on her already sweating face. Better yet, she's annoyed that it's only November and they already have to have the heat going. It's unusually cold this year, having snowed five centimetres on Halloween.<p>

Pissed off with the feeling, she shuts the vent. Who cares if the house only gets colder from this point on? If she keeps sweating like this she'll be able to heat the house herself. Finally granted a recess, she sits back against the outside of the bathtub. Its too early to be awake, even for her, and she's silently cursing the lights. If the switch weren't so far up the wall that she might actually need to stand up she'd shut them off too. Cool, dark… it all sounds so very appealing.

And just as suddenly as it had stopped, it's started again. Back arching, body lurching forward as her stomach rejects whatever it has left with a vicious passion. She wonders why it looks like orange juice, a thought which only spurs on the vomiting.

She's been wondering when this would begin. Just yesterday, while she and Sam were busy reading their stacks of parenting and pregnancy books, she had pointed out how easy things had been so far.

_"Look at me, no morning sickness, no fatness, bigger boobs-don't say you aren't enjoying this, I've seen you staring."_

Guess she spoke too soon. Either that or the baby's hearing has developed ahead of schedule and it's now getting back at her for being too cocky. She blames Sam for everything. She was never this cocky before, it must have rubbed off on her from living with him. If it's the baby getting back at her for it, that's definitely a trait it inherited from it's father.

Dinner last night was either too early or too small, because she's run out of fuel before running out of nausea. Forward, again, she heaves, painfully choking and coughing up what she can only assume is 90% saliva.

The thud from the next room tells her he's up, and a brief pause in footsteps tells her he's looking for her, waiting for another audible indication of where she is. She's about to call out that they don't work until 7 and he can go back to sleep. Instead, she's shaken by another bout and she's involuntarily making sounds that tell him exactly where she is, _and_ what she's doing.

_Great_, she thinks, half expecting him to walk into the washroom and point out how she spoke too soon, how he doesn't envy her, how he would be somewhat amused if it happened at work. With the exception of Sarge and Ed, the the team has no idea. Well, she supposes, Raf and Spike have no idea. When she thinks of it like that it makes her feel guilty for keeping a secret from them, but then she's reminded that they chose not to tell anyone for the first three months _just in case_. That idea scares the shit out her, and she quickly changes the subject of her thoughts in favour of keeping positive. Sam, the eternal optimist, thinks she's crazy, although he's not opposed to the three month rule. She knows its been killing him, however. Their agreement to keep it between them, and Ed and Sarge as a consequence of her continued work with team one, means he hasn't been able to tell anyone in his family. He couldn't care less what his father thinks, but he's counting down the days until he can tell his mother. She offered him the freedom to let her know, though it did come with a snarky _it would be your fault_ tone which she hoped told him she was less than ok with it. He declined the offer, a wise decision if she did say so herself, citing another flaw in that plan: Natalie. His mother would no doubt be dialling her number on her cell before even disconnecting the call with Sam, desperate to share the news with her daughter. After that all hope for sweet revelations to the rest of the team, and of course Wordy, would be out the window. Natalie was a born publicist, and would have the news trending on _Twitter_ before even hanging up the call.

As his footsteps come to a halt outside the bathroom door she braces herself for the comments, the tone, the look. She's doing her best to come up with a witty retort, but all that comes to mind is _we are never having sex again_ and they both know how empty that threat would be. She swats away the tears that have collected as a simple side effect of the vomiting as the door opens and he peers down at her shivering, sweating frame where she cowers on the floor.

She can't even look at him. "Can you please not be in here?" Its all she can ask, all she knows he can do to make her feel better and she can feel another session sneaking up on her.

Surprisingly, he obeys, closing the door and walking away. She knows she asked him to do it, but somehow the act sparks feelings of abandonment she was sure she left behind her. _Hormones,_ she tells herself, fighting back the real tears. _Definitely hormones_. The logic does nothing for her, she's still deeply disappointed that while she's on the bathroom floor hurling like there's no tomorrow he's most likely in the kitchen drinking the coffee she can't have and eating the bagel she wishes she could hold down. At this point, she doubts she'll ever eat again.

Another reprieve allows her to return to her position against the bathtub, hugging her knees close and resting her head on a towel balanced on top of them. For a moment she thinks she could sleep in this position - it would certainly be convenient if this becomes a regular thing.

The squeak of the door pulls her out of her plans to turn the bathroom into her bedroom, and she turns to see that he's returned, coffee mug in hand. She notices its her mug he's holding, that smug son of a bitch, and she hopes her disgust is evident by her facial expression.

He's missed the hint, she assumes, because he's giving a small smile. However, instead of smirking more and taking a sip, he crouches down to sit beside her, offering the cup.

"Its ginger tea. That fat book of yours says it can help."

She furrows her brow in confusion. Simple as it is, she's surprised because she didn't know he even knew how to make tea.

He's frowning now, likely misinterpreting confusion for disgust. "I also got peppermint if you'd rather have that…" he trails off, the hurt of the presumed rejection echoing in his words.

Its the fastest she's moved since arriving in the bathroom as she practically dives into his side, his arm instinctively reaching around her shoulders. The tears are back, only this time it's because he's so damn sweet, and she's too touched for words. Grateful, she takes the tea and indulges in it. The taste is… less than appealing, not nearly as satisfying as her double double would have been, but it does make her feel better and she wonders how he caught that part of the book when she didn't. She has to remind herself of the consequences which might ensue if she drinks the tea too fast, and slows her steady chug to a series of sips. "Thank you," she whispers in between mouthfuls, only now realizing she hasn't said anything to him since he returned with the hot beverage.

"No problem… have you been here long?"

She smirks, unsure of the current time, or even what time it was when she jumped out of bed. "Not a clue."

He nods, and they both sit in comfortable silence as she finishes the tea.

"Know what day it is?" He's grinning, his eyebrows wiggling with excitement.

Sickness aside, today's a good day, but she'll play with him a while. "Friday?"

His face droops and he glares at her, not in the mood for fun.

The idea of toying with him loses it's allure and she smiles back. "How should we do it?"

He's grinning again, and she gets the feeling he's been thinking about it. "I think we should bring the picture." She could have seen that coming. She knows the picture in question has found a home in his wallet and he's just waiting for the moment he gets to stick it up in his locker.

* * *

><p>It's a quiet day at HQ and they're both glad. Sarge has split the team up for the day, assigning different tasks for different pairs. Ed has Raf and Sam running entry ops on the drill building, while Sarge has instructed Spike to go over as much computer security work with her as possible. Both she and Sam have been picking up on Sarge and Ed's anxiety over her being out of the direct field, a concern they share. They could use Spike as extra man power inside in a tense situation, and they know she isn't nearly as talented in computer hacking and reprogramming as Spike is.<p>

When they both find themselves at the fridge in search of bottled water, the topic is brought up immediately.

"I can't take it."

She smirks, because she knows he can't.

"Seriously smiley, I'm about to burst."

"Ok, so what? You tell Raf, and I'll tell Spike?"

He's quiet for a minute and she knows he's thinking it over. She knows she'd love to be there when Raf finds out and Sam can't be too keen on being left out of telling Spike, but like he said he's about to burst and they might not have a choice.

"No, that won't work."

She sighs, and her tone becomes one of annoyance as she too is running out of patience. "Ok, so what _will _work? Did you just want to wait until the next time we go to the Goose?" She knows that'll quicken his thought process - this weekend is their weekend on shift and next week looks to be a hellish one so the Goose won't be visited for at least another 10 days.

He gives her a half smile and she knows what he's going to say before he says it. "Ok, you tell Spike, I'll tell Raf. BUT, I get to call my mom and Natalie before you do it so that neither of them lose their shit at me."

He does it, over lunch in the privacy of the men's locker room. Ed's reluctantly agreed to play lookout, acting as a buffer between the other guys and the locker room while Sam makes the calls. Two Braddock women later, he's reemerged with a story about a messed up phone bill and being on hold for a million years. Ed smirks to himself and inconspicuously leaves the room, while Sarge simply nods along, acknowledging Sam's feigned frustration.

After lunch Sam's back outside working with Raf, and she and Spike find themselves back at a desk, focused on the monitors in front of them. She's listening, she's really trying to listen, she thinks she may have caught every fifth word but its not working. She doesn't want to interrupt him as he so passionately describes…something to do with a firewall?… but she can't take it anymore.

"I have something to show you," she blurts out.

Spike looks up from the monitor. He appears annoyed and she thinks she may have just interrupted something even more life saving than usual. "Oh? What's that?" He says simply, no trace of annoyance but definite tones of curiosity.

She slides her copy of the picture across the desk towards him. "That," she says, pointing to the swirl in front of him, "is a baby Braddock."

Spike gives a small smile, looking over the sonogram, and she wonders if someone already told him. Ed and Sarge had said it would be unprofessional of them to do so until necessary, but what about Sam?

Suddenly the tech's face pales and he looks confused, then serious, then shocked. He's looking from her to the sonogram to her barely even bloated stomach and back again. "Oh…" he begins, and she sees the smile finding its way out. "Oh! Oh my gosh… Jules!"

She can't help but laugh as her friend pulls her into a tight hug, then backs off as if she's suddenly breakable.

"This is so cool!" His attention is back on the picture, eyes carefully scanning the details. "Wait, this is from like a month ago…"

"There's this thing about waiting to tell people…" She begins defensively before trailing off because he doesn't seem to be interrogating her like she thought.

"Does Sarge know?"

She gives a reluctant nod. "Had to tell him. Its why he's making me learn more of your techie stuff. Listen, we didn't want to lie to you or keep secrets and I understand if you're-"

"Wait, what? You don't need to justify that to me," with a flick of the wrist he's brushed off the question and shooed away her concern. "This makes me an uncle, right?"

"Sort of. I mean, you won't _really_ be the uncle because you and Nat aren't married…" she's only teasing, she only hopes he knows that.

"I was going for the whole _team as family_ thing, but good to know how you feel," he teases, then gives her a serious look. "Don't be saying stuff like that around Natalie."

She laughs. "Why? Because after over a year you think she hasn't thought about that?"

"No… I'm working on it, alright? Just leave it alone."

He's blushing, so she does.

"When do you get a new one?"

Her face contorts as she tries to figure out what he means. "A new what?" When he points to the picture she briefly wonders if he's asking when they'll get a new baby. It both confuses and concerns her.

"A new picture. Like, an updated one. This thing is old, you must be able to see more by now…"

She peers down at her basically non existent belly, and can't help but ask. "What are you implying? Are you saying I'm fat?"

His eyes widen and his breath hitches. He licks his lips and she's amused at how panicked the SRU officer is.

"Spike, I'm joking."

"That wasn't funny…"

She laughs, and tells him the date of her next appointment, that she'll have a new one after that.

There's a thud somewhere in the hallway and the faint sound of rambling voices and they both roll their chairs back enough to see out the door. Raf is near sprinting down the hallway, Sam, in fits of laughter, a few paces behind.

"Is it true?" Raf asks, panting for air as he leans against the doorframe. "Is it true you're pregnant?"

She rolls her eyes, wondering how Sam could have put it that would result in this level of doubt and surprise. She gives Raf a small nod and he's rambling away about being uncle Raf, about how he should embrace his high school nick name _Rafiki_ and be the one to present the newborn to the world… or at least write the birth announcement. She's sure they're about to burst into song; some version of hakuna matata has got to be coming on. Raf and Spike start into a long list of things to tell _Baby B_ about it's parents. In a few years, they claim they'll have a rebellious teen who they're sure would love to hear all about their parents' eagerness to defy authority by having a clandestine relationship with a coworker.

Sam claims the seat next to Jules and they both stare in mock judgment at their teammates, now in deep discussion about possible names, nicknames, and sports teams they both want to help out on. Proud smiles drift across their faces, happy their child will have such great family.


	7. Planning

**A/N: Trish needs to get an account (or at least sign in!) so that I can taunt in between chapters AND cut down on reviewer specific bits in a/n's. :) Oh, and punctuation is totally important. Ps, super unimpressed that the # symbol didn't make it into the 'official' chapter title for #JamBaby. Little tidbit, that particular chapter/title MAY have come from my recent discovery of twitter (totally only use it to follow flashpoint stuff, lol!)  
><strong>**So not sure how I feel about this chapter. I'm pretty sure it goes from Ok to crap, but I promise there's a reason for it.  
><strong>**Also, I had doubts about putting that teaser bit at the beginning of the first chapter… from the reviews I gather people have gone back to re-read that bit… well, spoiler alert, it has nothing to do with this chapter. Well, other than the fact that it's the same story and ultimately it's all related. Anyways, you can all relax for a chapter or two… or can you? I'm mean. You'll have to ignore me… I've never written a story this far in advance of posting it before. Also, can I just throw out there that it's become obscenely hot where I live in the past day or two to the point where I'm ready to scream? Better yet, it's supposedly going to snow later this week… Come on, Canada, pick a damn side - you can be hot, or cold, but please not both. Thank you. On with the chapter.**

* * *

><p>Sam's been studying everything from conception to childbirth. He knows which vitamins promote this, prevent that. He's read a few blogs from expectant mothers and he's certain he can tell what Jules is thinking, feeling. He's brushed up on his massage techniques, is certain that when her back begins to constantly ache from the added weight of her front he'll be able to soothe it with his eyes closed, one hand cuffed behind his back.<p>

He's got the knowledge, the know-how, the inside track. The only thing he's missing, is a uterus.

That particular piece of equipment belongs to his wife. His beautiful, loving, stubborn as all hell, wife. He knows she's read all the same books as he has, but his arrogant self is telling him he knows more than she does. She keeps saying she's not interested in an epidural. She's got a thing about pain killers, doesn't want them if they're optional. He's told her not to think about it like that, drawn comparisons with the way they sedate people for surgeries. It's because it hurts, and if she doesn't have to suffer through the entire thing she shouldn't.

She's still fighting the idea, but he knows she'll give in as soon as she goes into labour. He knows because when he mentions that she shouldn't associate the birth of their child with that level of pain he sees the thoughtfulness in her eyes because she knows he's right.

Regardless, it's not all that important at this point.

"Will you stop staring?" She's trying to sound irritated, he sees right through it. He knows she's loving it too.

"I'm sorry, I'm just so excited that you can see it."

She smiles and rolls her eyes. "Sam, its barely even there. It's little more than a food baby."

"Sure, if you ate the whole buffet." He's smirking but he can't help it. For weeks he's been petting what might as well have been a board, desperately consulting the books on what's happening because he can't see it, and he's afraid Jules won't mention something. They've been having the same debate every morning - he'll insist she's grown, that his hand used to fit across a certain way and now it doesn't, while she'll insist he's imagining it. He pointed out that she had loosened her belt a notch for work, started hooking a hair elastic in place of the button on her jeans, insisting that means she notices it too. She's been insistent that it's just that her clothes haven't been fitting as great as they used to, not a sign that there was actually anything to be seen.

It wasn't until about a week ago that she acknowledged he was right. He caught her in the washroom after her shower, carefully inspecting the newly discovered bump through the fog of the mirror. Upon seeing the wonder in her eyes he'd bit back the urge to tell her he told her so and simply enjoyed the view as her hand drifted up and down, back and forth across her stomach.

"Spike told me to get him a copy. I told him to get his own baby."

"I hope you know how uncomfortable that makes me." His stomach nearly lurches. He'd long ago accepted the relationship between Spike and his baby sister, but the odd thing still sets off some form of rage. Such as the idea of Spike having a baby with his sister. Getting his sister pregnant. Having _sex_ with his _sister_. He knows it happens, went for several midnight runs last time they visited his parents as a foursome because he could hear them in the next hotel room. He's with Jules on the marriage thing - thinks they're perfect for each other and are wasting their time putting off making it official - but there are certain things he'd rather ignore.

"You know it's going to happen," she says, leaning back onto the inclined table and resting a hand on her stomach. Since she discovered it she's all about showing it off. "Its just a matter of time before there's a cousin."

He groans - if the hotel stay was any indication, she's right. "Can we not talk about that? The baby will have ears soon and I'm sure it doesn't need to hear about it's aunt's sex life. I know I don't. Where's Noah?"

"Who?"

"Wyle."

She's got an eyebrow raised and her nose scrunched. "Did I miss something?"

He rolls his eyes, they had the same discussion last time. He's about to get sarcastic in reminding her when the door creaks and Dr Ryan strolls in.

"Morning all," he grins, flipping through his notes. "How is everyone doing today?"

He happens to stifle back a yawn at that moment, earning him a filthy glare from Jules.

"Excuse him, apparently the army doesn't make you good at mornings."

"I'm not military anymore, it's allowed."

"Not on the police force."

Dr Ryan simply shakes his head, clearly ready to move on. "How's the nausea?"

"The past week has been better, so far none this morning."

"Good, good…" The doctor continues with a practiced list of the usual questions. Jules is polite in answering them, though when Sam asks the same things she gives him hell for it, says he's not a doctor and should stop trying to be. He knows she's just tired, irritable, her body busying itself with growing their baby rather than making her happy to see him, so he let's it slide. At least in the doctor's office he can get answers without pissing her off. The question of has she thought about maternity leave comes up and his ears perk up a little, but she tells the doctor they haven't really talked about it yet. It's a complete lie - he's asked her a few times if she's going to set a date or if she'll simply keep working until she goes into labour in the middle of the SRU. She hasn't given him an answer other than that she's only four months in and has another five to go. Yep, that baby is going to be born in the briefing room. He knows it. Hell, Jules might prefer it to the hospital.

The questions stop and he's practically giddy as Jules slides her shirt up and the ER character squirts goo on her tummy. The books all refer to it as a belly, but Jules is right, it's not that big yet so he determines its more of a tummy at this point. His attention on the screen, he first only sees the usual swirly nonsense. Suddenly, something that looks suspiciously like a human being makes its way into the frame. His breath hitches and he hears Jules do the same. He's read all about how the baby is currently about the size of a half banana, but he never expected it to look so… _real_. The doctor lets them hear the heartbeat while he gives them the grand tour of what's happening in Jules' downstairs, and he thinks that if Jules were to get a tape of that sound and give it to him for Christmas he'd be the happiest man on the planet.

The moment is interrupted by the sound of both their phones going off. Dr Ryan shoots him a _no phones in the hospital_ glare as he sheepishly turns his off before going through Jules' purse to turn hers off. He's only glad the doctor used his best face to convey the message because he's sure Jules would have paled at the sound of the word _hospital_. She may not have the morning sickness anymore, but the weeping over-emotional mess still remains. _Hormones_ he reminds himself daily, _its the hormones_.

As they walk out of the hospital, new pictures in hands, he checks his phone. There's several messages and he knows they've missed something big. His face must know it too because Jules is studying him intently as they get into her jeep and he finishes listening to the message.

"What is it?"

"We're being called in," he tells her, pulling his seatbelt on. "Someone on team two was shot."

* * *

><p>The funeral is overwhelmingly well attended, and painfully long. Most of the time funerals remind him of other funerals - his sister's, his best friend's - but this one has an extra effect. Standing in cool pants in a crowd of all the off duty teams he's reminded of what he's always known - their job is dangerous.<p>

He doesn't need to look at Jules to know exactly how this is affecting her. He knows she gave up on the belt for her uniform, but she's been able to make the rest of it work around the bump. He knows why she yelled at him when he said they'd all understand if she wore something else, and why now that they're there she hasn't let go of his hand. At the beginning of the service there's mention of how it happened and he feels her hand tighten on his. He knows she's reliving her own shooting, feeling the guilt that must come with being someone who's survived such a thing at the funeral of someone who didn't. Ed looks sick, likely for the same reason, and Wordy, having taken many a bullet to the vest but no real damage, hasn't said a word past _Hey_. None of them need to talk right now; the simple reminder that they aren't actually invincible is enough.

They join the other teams at the Goose for the reception. It's an odd place for a memorial, a _bar_, but it seems fitting. It's one of the only places where all of the teams have spent any time together, second only to HQ. He doesn't drink a drop all night. He's seen the way Jules is only half paying attention to the conversations at their table of team one plus Wordy and Winnie, and knows she's better off not driving home. He's certain that if it gets quiet enough for too long she'll be asleep under the table. Still, she refuses to leave early. Doesn't want to be rude.

She excuses herself from the table and he watches carefully for any sign that he should follow. He's near gleeful when Winnie decides to accompany her to the ladies room.

"So Samtastic, how's pregnancy treating you?"

For the first time that day, he grins; he knew Wordy would ask that. "Does the crying ever stop?" he asks, handing the man a copy of their most recent sonogram.

"Sure, but then it's replaced by the baby crying." Wordy's smirking, obviously pleased with the opportunity to say such a thing to someone other than Ed. "Are you two going to find out what it is?"

He sighs. Jules tends to flip flop between yes and no, and as long as they can settle on a gender neutral colour for the nursery he sees no reason why they would _need_ to know, though he's definitely curious. "Haven't decided yet."

Wordy nods, checks over his shoulder to be sure Jules isn't on her way back yet, and begins to give Sam a detailed list of what to expect, and what not to say or do. Ed joins in and there's a list of adjectives that are off limits - huge, big, large, plump, round - and a reminder that the answer to _Do I look Fat?_ is always a preprogrammed and confident _No_.

"Don't even look. Just say it and move on." The two older men nod in agreement, seamlessly changing the topic as Jules returns.

* * *

><p>"Do you got a minute?"<p>

He watches her furrow her brow and waits for the sarcastic response. "Well, I don't need to go to bed yet if that's what you're asking."

He rolls his eyes as she sits down at the kitchen table beside him. "I wanted to go over some things with you."

As she sorts through a few of the papers on the table he sees her expression change from annoyance to concern. "What's all this about?"

"I've been updating my will." When he sees her open her mouth, likely to protest, he cuts her off. "Please, just let me go over this stuff." He's granted an anxious audience while he goes over everything he can think of. The savings account he's set up and how to access it, the military pension he's, and consequently she's, entitled to after a certain age. Its not much because he wasn't in the army for long, but it'll help. He goes over their life insurance policy, reminds her of what she's entitled to if he dies of natural causes, and how its different if he dies in the line of duty.

She's shuffling her feet, obviously wanting out of the conversation. He can tell he's scaring the shit out of her; he's scaring the shit out of himself.

"Is this about what happened on team two?"

He sighs, bites his lip. "Partly."

She's visibly more nervous at his answer, and slowly forces herself to look him in the eye. "Is there something I should know?" It comes out as a whisper and he's suddenly aware of how terrified she is.

"No, no of course not."

She stands up, too anxious to sit. "Sam seriously, what's this about?" she demands, beginning to pace.

He rushes to stand in front of her, hands on her arms to stop her pacing. "_This_," he tells her, placing a hand on her growing belly. "_This_ is what this is about. Jules, I have to know that if anything ever happens to me that my family will be ok. I need to know that you two will be taken care of, and that you know that too. Honestly, I hope you'll do the same thing before you come back to work from maternity leave."

There's a tense moment as she stares at him, seemingly contemplating what he's offering. "Fine," she agrees with a sigh, reluctantly reclaiming her place at the table. "Let's get this over with."

**A/N: Now, be good little readers and review. Any ideas on if it's a boy or a girl?**


	8. Jam, Baby!

**Chapter 8: Jam, Baby!**

**A/N: The title of this chapter has little to do with the content. Well, sort of. It contains jam, and it mostly revolves around the baby. Also, I totally jacked that title from Trish/Tirsh's review from #JamBaby. Maybe I'll see how many times I can reuse the same words… ah, the importance of punctuation.  
><strong>**Anyway, That last chapter got like… 10 reviews in a day so I'm going to go ahead and post this early. Why? Because I too can't wait to see how this turns out. Other than this though, the most I can guarantee is 2 chapters per week (that way the finished chapters will last until I'm done school so I don't suddenly leave people hanging for like a month, which I have a habit of doing in other stories (sorry!) )**

* * *

><p>With the holidays comes the announcement of an engagement. Natalie calls at 3am, screaming in Sam's ear before demanding to speak to Jules. Hormones raging, Jules tries to hide her tears from Sam. It's useless, and he laughs, handing her the box of tissues he's gotten used to keeping close at hand. She acts offended that he so quickly jumps for the tissues for her, only because if she was honest and told him how happy it made her she would only cry harder. Hanging up the phone with a laugh she turns to him in bed, settling back into a comfortable position.<p>

"She's so excited."

"He proposed in Italy at Christmastime. Of course she's excited."

She shakes her head at the implication that his sister could be that shallow. "He proposed," she says simply, because she knows thats the only thing that matters.

"Guess we have a wedding to go to."

She frowns a little. "Hopefully not for a while, I'd like to be able to look decent in a dress." She's not that big yet, which is what scares her. She's gotten to the point where her jeans don't fit, and she can only pull off the cargo pants for a little while longer before she's going to have to go buy some legitimate maternity clothes. Shirts are a different story - a tank top under a hoodie and she's good for work, the hoodie being baggy enough that it covers what needs to be covered. At home she's taken to wearing Sam's t-shirts and track pants because they're both comfortable and big enough for her. Still, she knows those solutions are only temporary.

"You'd look great in anything," he tells her, and even though she disagrees she's inclined to believe he means it. It makes her want to cry. He must know how it makes her feel, because with a kiss on her cheek he's changing the subject. "How's baby?" he asks, hands wandering over the t-shirt covering her belly.

"Making me hungry," she tells him with a smirk. She's been up every night at the same time, desperately hunting through the cupboards for a snack.

"I figured that was- what the-" His hands stop as the two of them jump in surprise. "Was that…?"

"I think it was." Her eyes go wide. She feels stupid because she's not sure it's happening, and really, she should be able to tell. It happens again and they both stare at each other, as if to be sure that the other felt it too. "That was definitely the baby."

With that Sam is grinning, swiftly moving to the other side of the bed so close to her she fears she might get pushed off the edge. His hands are roaming again, desperate for another feel. When nothing happens he quietly begs the baby to 'do it again for Daddy'. She knows she's in trouble when the kid does as its told - not even born and already taking it's father's side. She's just been outnumbered from the inside out.

"Thats so cool!" He's giddy with excitement and all she can do is smile. "What's that feel like inside?"

There he goes with the questions she can't answer. She can describe it as accurately or as loosely as she wants and he'll never really know the difference. Still, the curiosity endears her because she knows he's going through some weird jealous phase.

"Do you think… no wait just shhh for a minute."

She stares at him in confusion as he moves his hands away from her belly, then pries her hands away as well. He nearly tears the shirt as he pushes it up and over the bump so that he can examine the bare skin. She's still confused and is about to speak when she sees it too. It's not very well defined, a small seismic event, a gentle vibration, and really it could have just been the wind, but her belly just moved on it's own.

"Whoa…" they both say, looking from the bump to each other. His hand reclaims it's place on her belly and he pulls over his stack of pillows so he can relax while he waits for the next kick. His hand rubs in circles, hoping to somehow make it happen again.

"This is so amazing…" he tells her, and she nods back. Its the first time she's really felt like there's a baby in there. Sure, through all the weeping and morning sickness she never doubted she was pregnant, but somehow she's just bridged the connection between _pregnant_ and _baby_.

There's a rumble beneath his hand and she giggles as Sam perks up in concerned excitement. "What was that? Was that the baby? That felt different… is something wrong?"

She laughs a little harder, smiles at his confusion. "That was my stomach, Sam. I told you I was hungry."

* * *

><p>She's pretty sure he's been taking cooking classes on his days off because suddenly Sam's able to make her all kinds of delicious meals. He's come a long way from Chicken-a-la-Sam, a.k.a. frozen chicken fingers. Mac and cheese with strawberry jam, garlic toast with jam on it, soda crackers with jam dipped in chili. Ok, perhaps his sudden cooking abilities have something to do with the fact that she's suddenly got the appetite of a 14 year old pot head. She just can't get enough jam.<p>

Can't get enough Sam, either.

The hormones are hitting her in a new way now, and in between bouts of weeping, she's horny as hell. It's strange, she thinks, how one person can have both the appetite of a 14 year old pot head and the libido of a 20 year old frat boy, but that's exactly how she'd describe herself. Sure, she doesn't actually smoke pot or engage in casual drunken sex, and she takes enough vitamins to revitalize the damaged street youth of Toronto, but that's still the way she feels.

It's a little cruel, but she's amused by how tired Sam looks. She tells him to sleep, that she can make her own disgusting combination of breakfast, lunch, and nasty leftovers, but he won't hear it. He insists he's not tired, that he can make what she wants so she can just relax. He's all about doing whatever she wants, and she tries not to take advantage. Tries hard. Tries really, really, _really_, hard.

But then, because he clearly enjoys the torture of sleepless nights, he goes and saunters by in those old plaid pj pants and she's done for.

"You've got to stop wearing pyjamas," she states, quite simply.

He sighs, tugs at the waist of his pants. "Oh come on, Jules, I know these pants are a little… worn… but there aren't that many holes…"

"Not _those_ pyjamas. All pyjamas," she tells him, licks her lips. "Pants off, Braddock."

He simply smirks and any sympathy she might have felt is gone in an instant. With all the reading he's been doing, she's certain he knew this was coming. Hell, she's pretty sure he's been looking forward to it.

* * *

><p>Team one scores Christmas eve through boxing day off. The benefits of beating the other teams by an impressive 10 seconds on the obstacle course. Sarge might have also played the short handed card, citing pregnant Jules and Spike in Italy as detrimental to their ability to run a proper shift, but no one is about to blame him for that.<p>

The night before Christmas Eve Sam's full of beans, can't sit still the entire drive home. She questions it, but he's not giving anything up.

She suspects it may have something to do with the baby's room. On days off when she's napping she can hear him in the room next to theirs, stifling back curses after what sounds suspiciously like the sound a hammer makes upon contact with a finger. Add to that her missing toolbox and she's sure he's been working on the room.

When they arrive home he asks her to wait in the car. She rolls her eyes because as foolish as she feels sitting in her own driveway she knows better than to argue with him when his intent is to surprise her. Mere minutes later he reappears at the car door, tugging it open and leading her into the house, and up the stairs.

"I have an early Christmas gift for you."

Eyebrows shift skeptically - her guess is a rocking chair, or maybe a crib that he's managed to assemble on his own. He's been working in there a lot while she rests, but there's no way he's pulled off decorating the entire room. "Oh? What is it?"

He's rolling his eyes and she notes how annoying it is - reminds herself to call and apologize to her third grade teacher for doing the same thing in her class. "You'll have to open it," he tells her, stepping aside and gesturing to the door. He's wrapped it - not very well but to be fair how easy is it to wrap a door? - in Santa paper and stick-on bows. There's a slightly oversized name tag on it, addressing the present _To Mommy & Baby From Daddy_. "Well, I suppose technically it's not just for you."

She smiles. In all the time she's spent thinking about how Sam is going to be a Daddy she's never once called herself Mommy. She likes it.

She twists the knob and the door begins to creep open, but she pauses to glance at Sam. He's grinning like an idiot, obviously proud of whatever it is he's done. Her patience wears thin and she opens the door, surprised when she has to lean against the doorframe to keep her balance as a hand shoots to cover her mouth.

He's done it. The whole room. He's decorated the entire room. He went ahead without her and planned and carried out the entire room. Walls have been painted thick alternating stripes of light and dark green, framed pictures of baby cartoon animals line the walls, an incredibly gender neutral chandelier style light fixture hangs from the ceiling. There's a dark brown crib and change table, with a surprisingly comfortable looking rocking chair to match. For the love of god, he's even got a picture of the two of them on the wall near the crib.

"Sam…"

"I know, I know, you wanted to pick out everything together it's just with our schedules and you not being able to be around wet paint I figured maybe I should just do it and then…Well, we can redo it if you want but I figured this way all we need to do is…Jules?"

"I love it." And there she goes, crying again. For Christmas he gave her a room for their baby. She's got some hockey tickets, a case of beer, and a jogging stroller for him, and he's just given their baby a freaking place to live. By her calculations, he wins this holiday, but if he so much as thinks of telling her so, she'll gladly toss in his face that she's giving him a child.

Let's see him top that one.


	9. The Winter

**A/N: Ok so posting a little late today… my apologies. I've been meaning to post since I got off work 6 hours ago but I'm pretty sure something's physically wrong with me because I haven't been able to stay awake for more than five minutes since I got home. Gah. Not your concern. Anyways, I'll now probably be up all freakin night because of my series of naps, which will screw me over for work tomorrow morning and school the rest of the week. Now, onto things that are actually your concern. This is a somewhat fluffy, mostly filler chapter… large jump in time, but I'm pretty sure it's clear how much time passes in this chapter. Oh, and fair warning, its crap. Like, rewritten/edited it at least 3 times and still don't like it. It just doesn't get any better. I promise I'll make up for it… the next chapter is less fluffy, and not all that filler. And the one after that… well, you'll just have to read it.**

* * *

><p>The month of January is a nightmare. Somehow, the new year has brought a sudden spike in hot calls, most of which seem to be ending in less than amicable results. Far less. Between Sam and Ed, Sarge is on a first name basis with the SIU detectives. There's no doubt about the legitimacy of the calls, everyone knows it. The team just keeps getting miserable situation after miserable situation, and there's always a hostage at risk who absolutely needs that shot to be taken. The tension is rising among the team. Justified shots or not, it's taking it's toll on their team self-esteem. They're team one. The top team. If anyone can talk someone down, it's them, and if they can't then clearly there's a problem. Surely even Jules can feel the tension from her position in the truck.<p>

To Sam's dismay, she's refused to transfer to another department, or to take herself out of the field completely. She and Sarge have had sit downs with Halloran, all of which seem to undermine his concerns. They've come to an agreement - it's judgment calls based on the nature of the hot call. Anything to do with explosives or anything that could potentially catch fire and she's chained to the desk to assist from HQ, but for anything else she goes out into the field. The number one rule is that she stay in the truck. Sarge must be getting paranoid, because he doesn't even let civilians into the truck to give Jules information anymore. He claims it's because she's no longer in full uniform - the best she can do is some maternity dress pants, a plain t-shirt and an SRU jacket. Sam's willing to take that as a favour to him.

He doesn't particularly like it, but he deals. Tries his best and blocks out the pregnant Jules thoughts when he's staring through the scope of his rifle. He does a surprisingly good job at it too, which is why it scares the shit out of him after the call when she hops out of the truck, growing belly weighing on her balance.

It's definitely classified as a belly by now. It's not terribly huge on it's own, but combine it with Jules' inherent lack of height and its that much bigger.

It still scares him that she's in the field, even in her limited role, but he's only questioned her on it once. Only once. He told her it freaked him out, made him nervous, made him worry for the safety of her and their baby. She took it as him accusing her of intentionally endangering their child, and the yelling began. She pointed out that she's been thinking of the baby's safety since before he even knew there was a baby, having _trucked_ herself on that first call even though there weren't even any weapons involved. That of course led to him accusing her of keeping it from him so that she could make all the decisions on her own - in spite of the fact that he knows damn well that's not the case - which of course led to him being told to sleep on the couch. Not the guest bed, because that would defeat her purpose, but the couch. It was the first time that had happened between them. Ever. She'd never been mad enough before then to ask him not to sleep next to her.

He'd sat outside their bedroom door for at least an hour, doing what he'll never admit was most likely begging, trying to get her to let him in. After that he'd hung around in the baby's room for a while, nearly dozing off as he sat in the rocking chair, stuffed bear in hand, feeling both guilty and sorry for himself.

"I didn't appreciate what you were implying."

He nearly fell out of the chair at the sound of her voice. "Jules, I really didn't mean that you-"

"I know. And I'm sorry I accused you of calling me a bad mother. I know you never said that."

He could tell she had been crying, and accepted her apology with a nod. "I just worry about you two."

She nodded back, moved to take his hand in hers. "Will you come back to bed now?"

Since then they haven't dared breach the subject. He still worries, but he's decided to trust her. What else can he do? The routine is quite similar to how it was before, with her taking care of him after each lethal shot, but there are new things. Now the routine includes him lying near her belly on the couch or the bed, talking aimlessly to their baby. He's been reading a lot about babies and hearing, and he's decided that they need to keep the negative words to a minimum. He's somewhat afraid their baby might come out a morbid pessimist if all they do is talk about how sometimes you just have to shoot. So instead, he plans birthday parties and camping trips, and tells stories about _Mommy_ as if she's not in the room.

Then there's dealing with Jules. She's not constantly weeping from the hormones anymore, but he might prefer that over the present. Now, they're unpredictable. She loves him one minute, is pissed that he allegedly thinks she's a pig the next. He doesn't think anything of the sort, of course, in fact he's thrilled that he can cook man sized portions for them both. It amuses him how he often catches her inhaling her steak because '_God Sam, it's just so good…'_. He foolishly thought he could avoid the question of does she look fat by responding with _you look beautiful_… He now knows that's not an answer, definitely not one she wants to hear. Even as her expression shifted ever so slightly as he said it, he could hear Wordy's voice in his head: _Don't even look. Just say it and move on._

* * *

><p>As January melts into February he finds Jules wrapped up in the theme of Valentine's day. Before they were married she'd given some speech about how it was a foolish holiday, meant for old married people who don't do anything for each other any other time of the year. He has a different view on the holiday, and has always made an effort to do something nice, to get her a little something. This year things are different. She's been planning their dinner for the past 3 weeks, stocked up on candles and heart shaped plates. He thinks the shitty month of January bummed her out so bad she's been looking for something to focus on. He doesn't have a problem with it though; she's been craving a lot of fruit filled chocolates these days and this gives him the perfect opportunity to give her a box.<p>

So he gets her the biggest box of assorted fruit filled chocolates he can find, along with a ridiculous pink bear he couldn't help but buy and a bouquet of flowers. Dinner is nice, a quiet dinner at home where she teaches him to make alfredo sauce. He'll never make it on his own since he nearly burns it with her help, but he thinks its nice for them to spend that kind of time together. Time that doesn't involve running drills or talking people down. They finish it off with some store bought cake, because Jules doesn't 'have the patience for that baking shit', before settling in for the night.

In the middle of the night he wakes up alone. Confused and concerned he nearly falls out of bed as he hears her.

He finds her on the bathroom floor, having an intense conversation with the porcelain gods. "I thought we were past this…" he asks, sweeping her hair back out of her face for her.

She groans, looks up at him. "We are… I just…"

"What's wrong?" His concern grows and his tone is now one of panic.

"Nothing's _wrong_," she tells him, and gives him a sheepish smile. "I kind of ate all the chocolates."

Its adorable, and he chokes back a laugh as he heads to the kitchen to find something to treat her upset stomach. He's enjoying taking care of her. It's one of the first times in their relationship that she's let him do it so he's milking it for all it's worth. He's learned to make tea, which involved one awkward phone call to his mother who told him to _just_ _dump the water in_ like it was the most obvious thing in the world. After that he'd consulted google, then frantically deleted his browsing history as he realized it really was that simple. It kills him to watch her go through the physical nonsense that comes along with pregnancy - he's still sure that morning sickness is psychological because he can't see how a baby affects a woman's digestive system that way - but he loves that she doesn't fight him off during it. Maybe she sees letting him wait on her hand and foot as some kind of payback for what he's done to her, maybe she's convinced herself that it's about wanting to dote on her rather than take care of her. Either way, he's thrilled to do it.

* * *

><p>In March there's a baby shower. Natalie embraces her impending aunthood and decides to be the official Braddock family party planner. Jules makes it clear early on that she isn't going to get on board in any level of enthusiasm with any of the weird games people seem to like to play at baby showers, which is likely why the woman then excludes her from the planning process and turns to Sophie and Shelly instead. The three women convince Jules she'll enjoy the party, and at the very least she'll score some sweet swag in the form of gifts. She's always liked kids but she's only recently hit a stage in which she can't look at a miniature sized pair of slippers without cooing.<p>

The day of the party Sam has to work, and she makes it perfectly clear to him that she'd rather be running drills, dragging the boss around HQ, than sitting in a circle of women who all insist on giving her advice on how to look after _her_ baby. Nevertheless, she does get excited by the cutesy blankets Sophie gives her, the fuzzy booties Shelly made. Natalie somehow manages to get an entire wardrobe's worth of gender neutral clothing, and, in spite of the fact that her mind immediately goes to whether or not they have room for all this stuff, she joins the women in a crazed game of which pants to pair with which tiny t-shirt. There's a baby hockey jersey in there, and she knows Sam will love it. Probably won't let the kid wear anything else until the shirt gets painfully small.

She saves it for last as she shows off all the gifts she, or more accurately Baby Braddock, received, and when she finally gets to it he loses his mind. He can't wait for the baby to be big enough to appreciate going to hockey games, but in the meantime they'll be watching them on TV in their matching jerseys. She makes a mental note to get a picture of that - Sam and their baby in matching shirts, how cute is that?

As they finalize their yearly budget - a new practice brought on by the prospect of Jules being on a lesser income for a year - they make plans to become more economical. The jeep is gone, replaced by a far more fuel efficient SUV. Sam keeps his car to get him to work, simply because it's unrealistic to expect Jules to be able to drive him back and forth while she's off with the baby and a bike will only get him so far once the winter returns. He's also started jumping in on her more when she's showering, claiming they can cut back on their water bill if they shower together. It's crap, but she'll allow it because she's getting to the point where she can't reach half the places she needs to wash and he's more than willing to give her a hand.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: See? Crap. Anyways, I'm thinking I might write a oneshot about the search for Jules' replacement for while she's off on maternity leave... thinking I might have some fun with that as I procrastinate yet another school assignment. **


	10. Green Blanket Affair

**A/N: Ok so, welcome back to Scars & Stretchmarks, or as KateEals calls it S&SM (not to be confused with Scars and S&M, which is why my title now makes me laugh every time I see it…) rambling. Ok. So, this chapter is short. So short that when I saw the word count just now I considered merging it with another chapter, but I can't make that work so, oops, short chapter for you. Don't worry, I'll try to post the next chapter soon :) **

* * *

><p>His locker door has never been so full. The pictures are all from recent years, beginning with the picnic that changed it all. Then there's several of he and Jules - vacation, wedding, honeymoon - and finally there are sonograms. Many. He's got at least one from every possible doctor's visit, all centred directly at eye level. It makes him happy. The guys tease him about it, call it the Jules Callaghan hall of fame, but ultimately they shut up because they get it. Their lockers are full of loved ones too.<p>

Straightening up after lacing his boots his back emits a loud pop and he's got most of the locker room's attention.

Ed raises an eyebrow, looks him up and down. "That sounded healthy."

He shrugs. "It's not that bad. Didn't hurt any, actually felt kind of good."

Spike shakes his head. "Still haven't told her?"

"You should tell her. You're no good around here if your back aches like a 90 year old," Raf tells him. "Tell her."

"You still haven't told her you've been sleeping on the couch?" asks Sarge as he comes in, likely to see what's taking the guys so long.

He sighs. "No. Look, it's no big deal. Besides, how would I even tell her that? _Hey Jules, you're huge and it's awesome but you're so busy sprawling out over the entire bed for a comfortable position to sleep in that you haven't noticed I've been sleeping on the couch._ Yeah, that'll go well."

Ed nods, he knows. "He's right guys. That won't get him off of the couch. But, remind me again why its the couch and not the guest bed?"

"Because," he groans, closing his locker door. "She gets up at random times and if I'm downstairs I can hear her ahead of time and pretend like I just got up for some water. I'm pretty sure she thinks I have a hydration problem."

Spike seems to be considering Sam's reasoning, before shaking his head in disbelief. "I still think you should tell her."

* * *

><p>He finds her on his side of the bed, yet another book in hand.<p>

She pries her tired eyes away from the book to look at him pleadingly. "Please don't make me move, Sam. This is the most comfortable I've been in weeks."

He nods, moves to her side of the bed and starts to pull down the covers. Perhaps if she's actually comfortable then he'll be able to sleep in their bed the entire night.

She groans, her feet flapping uselessly against the mattress. "Help, please."

She's started asking for help. Can't get her slippers off by herself. Somehow, not being able to see her feet has affected her ability to toe off shoes or slippers like she used to. It's hilarious. And endearing. He's loving this.

"I'll be happy when I can undress myself again."

He smirks, tosses the slippers aside and kisses her cheek. "I'd undress you anytime."

She actually snorts. "Yeah I bet you would. Now, come to bed," she tells him, patting the space beside her.

He does as he's told and crawls in beside her, adjusting her paper thin pillows to a pile he might be able to sleep on.

"I'm cold. Can you grab the green blanket from the closet?"

He stops a moment. Green blanket. They only have one, and it happens to be the one he moved downstairs for his nights on the couch. Moving to the closet he picks up the closest blanket he sees. Maybe he can sidestep this entire conversation.

"What about this one?" he asks, holding up a pale blue wool blanket.

She shakes her head, looks almost childlike. "No. That's scratchy. What happened to the green one?"

He gives in. "Nothing. I'll go grab it." He can feel her watching him in confusion as he leaves the room and heads downstairs. As he locates the blanket he pauses to take a deep breath before heading back up the stairs. He's planning a negotiation strategy - there must be a way out of this.

When he returns she's half sitting up on her elbows - well, as much of her as her elbows can support - and scowling. "Why was that downstairs?"

"I um… was washing it?"

"Sam?"

"In case we ever have company?" It doesn't make sense, he knows. He's grasping at straws here.

"Sam."

He chews his lip, rings the blanket through his hands. "Alright," he gives in with a sigh. "I may have spent a few nights on the couch."

Her confusion is clear from the look on her face, and he's sure he could have gotten a lesser reaction had he shot her. "What? Why?"

"Because I didn't want to ask you to move…?" Through the shame of having been lying to her, or perhaps more accurately omitting information, he can barely even look at her.

"How many?" Her tone is serious, as is her face.

"Huh?"

"How many nights have you spent on the couch?" She's angry, hurt, confused.

"Not many, you know…" he trails off, adjusting the blanket to cover the bed. "Ok, maybe every night for the past month."

She gasps, and a hand flies up to cover her open mouth. It's similar to the shocked expression she made when he proposed, only this time it's not good shock. "A month! Why didn't you tell me?"

"I couldn't-"

"I am your _wife_!" She throws the word at him like he's just betrayed her, cheated on her. He supposes, in her hormone drenched mind, he has.

"I'm aware of that, Jules, but how would you like me to do that without hurting your feelings? You know damn well you would have taken it as me calling you unreasonable or fa-"

"You were not about say the F word."

"See! I didn't even call you it, wouldn't even call you it, and you're still pissed!"

Arms crossed in front of her, resting on her bulging belly, she stares him down. He thinks he might have got her there. He thinks he might have just won. There's champagne downstairs; if the act of drinking something he couldn't share with her wouldn't earn him a black eye he'd run and get it. Would be his first time winning since…

"You know what, _Sam Braddock_? Since I'm so FAT I'll go sleep somewhere else and you can stay here in _your _bed."

"What?" Fucking hormones.

She storms out, green blanket and _his_ pillows in tow, and heads for the guest bedroom, slamming each and every door behind her. Goes out of her way to slam a few more. He follows, of course, but she won't let him speak, won't let him apologize for…lying? covering up the lie?… won't let him cross the threshold into the room. He settles onto the floor just outside the door and waits for her to fall asleep. On the off chance she doesn't sleep in the exact very centre of the bed he'll try to sneak in next to her. Just like he does every night.

Sniffles tell him she's crying, but he knows better than to go in yet. Her breathing slows and he can hear that she's no longer wrestling with the blankets. There are a few hiccups and sniffles once in a while, but he's pretty sure its safe to try to go in.

She's got her back to the door, and there's just barely enough space on the bed behind her for him. Silently, he toes off his slippers and cautiously lifts the blankets. Sliding in beside her he moves closer. When she doesn't fight him on it, doesn't immediately yell at him to get the hell off of her, he takes a chance and inches his arm over her side to rest on her belly.

"I'm not fat." She tells him, her voice weak and barely defensive.

"I know."


	11. Something Hinky

**A/N: Ok, this chapter differs from previous ones…its mostly Jules' point of view, but there's some Spike for what I hope can be obvious reasons.**

* * *

><p>The truck has become her second home. She's been keeping snacks in the bag she totes along on calls, mostly because she's always hungry. She's started having to pack twice as much though, because as it turns out Spike likes snacks too. She alternates veggies and fruit, different kinds of dip, and has been experimenting in the home-made granola bar department. There's even a pocket full of peanut butter cups, but she keeps those for <em>emergencies<em> because if Spike knows they're there he'll devour them all in a single bite.

They get a shots fired call at an office building downtown. It seems routine. Within five minutes of setting up shop in the truck she's determined it's hinky, reports that to Sarge with Spike nodding intensely beside her. Sarge orders Spike inside with the rest of the team, and she braces herself to be the only geek in the truck.

"Fourth stairwell is locked. Jules, what kind of security system are we looking at here?"

"Um, it's called _Securit-telli…ugh?_"

Spike immediately picks up where she left off. He knows exactly what she's talking about. "Ok great. Remember that call last week with the _Scorpion_ system? It's just like that only a little more elaborate. Start with-"

"The first firewall then head directly to the heart of the system?"

There's a pause and she's sure she's just stunned her team.

"Yeah…" Spike tells her slowly. "Yeah exactly. You'll have to override the access code to open the stairwell doors for us, it's likely labelled-" He stops as the doors swing open in front of him. "Was that you Jules?"

She wishes they could see the smug look she's giving them. "Student becomes master, Michelangelo. What do you guys need next?"

She continues to use her newly mastered skills to lead the team through the building, gets on the phone to the uniforms and orders an evacuation of the areas her team has cleared. She's getting good at this.

"Alright, I'm going to go talk to our friend who made the 911 call, see what he can tell me because we haven't found the source of the shots yet," Sarge announces, then Ed adds that he'll go with him while Sam and Raf finish clearing the top floor. Spike is directed to return to the truck, see what he can help Jules dig up on possible subjects.

She listens as Sarge questions the caller, runs a background check on the man and comes up empty. If he's involved, it's his first time. Spike returns and joins the hunt for information, carefully pouring over transcripts of the call, history of the building. She's thinking its just a kid who got bored and figured it'd be fun to start a commotion.

Sam's voice cuts through on the comms. "There's nothing up here," he announces. "Raf and I are on our way out."

No sooner has Sarge responded _copy_ before the speakers in their ears are bombarded with what can only be one thing.

"Status!"

"Officer down!"

* * *

><p>It's all happening so fast. So fast she doesn't have a chance to process what's happening. Even as she relays Raf's words, feels the vibration from her own vocal cords she's unsure of their source, unsure of their meaning.<p>

_Officer down. SRU officer down. Gunshot wounds to the chest, need EMS on scene immediately_.

She waits and listens to the responding comments. _EMS on scene, Prepping for transport._

She's on autopilot as she gets up from her seat, straining only slightly against her increased weight, and exits the truck. She barely closes the door as she leaves, a meaningless detail because Spike is right behind her, following her as she quickens her pace towards the nearest SRU SUV. As far as she's concerned, this call is over.

"Don't-" she begins, sure that Spike is about to lecture to her about how they have to finish the call and debrief before they can go anywhere.

But his lecture never comes as he grabs her by the hand, releasing the keys from her grasp. She stares at him in wonder as he gestures for her to take the passenger's seat.

He's offering to drive her.

Shock sets in and she has to take a minute on the side of the road to empty her stomach before entering the vehicle. Its disgusting, the way raw veggies look when they come back up, the way they stand out against cement, but she doesn't give a shit because not only was her husband just shot, but she's pregnant and not in any mood to be told she's going to do the parenting thing alone.

Spike's got the sirens on in the truck before he even fills in the rest of the team on their whereabouts. She figures they already know. They should.

As expected they know, the subject has already been _neutralized _by Raf, and they'll debrief in the morning because, aside from the obvious, the call was black and white, plain and simple.

The ride to the hospital is a silent one as Spike floors it in an effort to keep up with the ambulance, while still being cautious enough not to put Jules or the baby in danger. He doesn't speak, doesn't try to tell her it'll be ok or that he's there for her. He knows that she doesn't want to hear it, she doesn't give a fuck where he is because he's not Sam, and right now no one knows if Sam is going to be ok.

For all they know he's dead by now, and he isn't about to unknowingly lie to Jules.

* * *

><p>As they cross the threshold to the emergency room she freezes. For all the time she's spent in hospitals over the years she's never really been on this side of things. Ed was different - Ed wasn't Sam. She doesn't know where to begin. Nurses are rushing in every direction, someone is mopping a streak of blood off the floor and she prays it doesn't belong to Sam. Sure, she knows he's bleeding - he was shot - but the idea of someone having to mop up what remains of him…<p>

"Braddock?"

At the sound of the familiar name she turns to see Spike demanding information from the triage nurse.

"No, well sort of… I'm his… his wife is right here."

The nurse gives a nod, looks back at her computer, waves over another nurse. The new nurse gestures for the two to follow her, giving Jules a quick smile as she recognizes her. Its the same nurse as when she was here after she was shot, same nurse who was here after she got caught in the lab from hell. She wonders if the woman ever sleeps, a passing thought as she realizes they're being directed to a waiting room. She hates waiting rooms. They're almost as bad as the rooms with the beds.

"Where is he?" Its the only thing she's said since calling in her own husband's shooting.

The nurse gives a sympathetic smile, guides them to some chairs in the corner. "He's in surgery. I'll have the doctor come update you as soon as possible."

Spike's sitting forward in his chair, head on his interlocked hands and foot tapping. The action shakes his whole body, the chair he's sitting on and consequently the chair she's sitting on. With a hand on his knee she silently begs him to stop.

"Sorry."

Its a meaningless apology. He's stopped, but its not as if she's happier. He straightens back in the chair, takes her limp hand in his with a squeeze. She's staring blankly at the room in front of her, counting the polka dots on the outdated wallpaper.

Sure, months ago he'd sat her down and laid it all out for her. She knows where to get money, how to get it. She knows where the important numbers are - parents, sister, lawyers. The arrangements would be easy, the department would take care of the service. All she'd need to do, functionally at least, is put up the money. Financially, she's got it made. The house would be taken care of and the college fund more than one child could possibly require. Emotionally, she's nowhere near ready for this. Not ready for him to go. Not ready to have his baby and not him. Its not right, not fair, not natural. Its cruel, and sick, and wrong for her to have to deal with this shit. Playing hostess to their child she's meant to be blissfully meandering through sleepers and blankets and pacifiers, busying herself with the task of preparing the house for a newborn. Bitching at Sam to clean out the kitchen cupboards because they need the space for bottles, sterilizing equipment.

Sam.

Not fair to Sam. For all the time he's invested in building a relationship with the wiggling baby within her it wouldn't be fair for him to go now. Not before he gets to meet their baby. His baby. He doesn't even know if its a boy or a girl. Shouldn't he get to know that? He needs to be there to argue with her until they find the perfect name or else the kid's going to enrol in preschool as "Baby Braddock" because she can't possibly make these decisions on her own.

"Jules? Jules, come on, calm down. It'll be ok." Spike's voice breaks through the fog and she realizes she's hyperventilating. She might not have any tears left to all out cry, but the other physical aspects are there. Her mouth opens in hopes of saying something, anything, but when the words fall short Spike simply wraps his arms around her and pulls her closer to him, the arm of the chair digging into her side. She shifts slightly so she's comfortable and leans into him.

They stay there for so long she's sure that under any other circumstances she would have fallen asleep on him. Instead, she's frozen in thought, safe in the arms of one of her best friends and yet she's never been so scared. She hardly notices, or cares, when they're joined by a distraught Natalie, who flits about trying to take care of things for Jules who really could care less where everyone else is and what they know, unless what they know is _Sam_. They're joined shortly after by the balance of team one, a crowd slowly forming in the rows of chairs near her. Ed - or maybe it's Sarge, she doesn't know or care - keeps offering her water. Juice. Crackers. She notices there's a jacket wedged between her and the arm of the chair closest to Spike, and gathers that someone put it there in an effort to make her more comfortable.

Ha. Comfort. That's funny. She's huge, aching, swollen. Pregnant. Add to that that she has no idea where or how her husband is and all dreams of _comfort_ can be thrown out the window.

Wordy's there. _When did he get there?_ The group has been talking every now and then, but she hasn't been paying enough attention to understand a word of it. She supposes that's where the idea of calling Wordy came from.

There's a swing of a door, squeaking of shoes against the tile, and a familiar voice. "For Braddock?"

It's her doctor, George Clooney himself. She knew he still worked a few emergency room shifts each month, but somehow he was the last person she expected to come through those doors. He looks different from this side of things. Oddly, he's less _ER_ and more _Ocean's Eleven_ this way. Perhaps her being on medication or in a compromising paper gown has a bearing on his appearance. She shrugs off hands offering to help her up and walks over to the doctor, who not only recognizes her but doesn't seem surprised to see her. He's smart, a doctor after all, he's likely already put the SRU uniform and the name Sam together. He's met Sam before, on the few occasions she'd allowed him to come with her to see him.

He calls her by her first name. _Jules_. At least he didn't try to call her Mrs. Braddock. No one does that. She put it off for quite some time, moving back and forth between wanting to change her name and not wanting to. For one thing, she's been Callaghan for a good thirty-some-odd years, and part of her didn't see the point in changing it so late in the game. Then there was the flip side, which kicked in shortly after finding out she was pregnant and realizing that she would be the only one in her family with a different last name. Sure, now she's about half way through the process of changing her name on all her official documents, but around the station she's still Callaghan. It's what the guys know her as, plus, after a short discussion she and Sam both realized it could be problematic to have two Constable Braddocks in the same station, on the same team. Problematic in situations like this one.

"Well, he's out of surgery."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: aaand that was this week's bonus chapter, posted only to make up for the shortness of the last one. **


	12. Tears

**A/N: Ok, to start I'll address some reviews from people who I couldn't send a PM to… **_**DJ**_** - Yes, yes, I do enjoy the cliffhangers… just be glad I didn't cut the chapter after "Officer down!" like I had originally intended to. And **_**sloop3000**_**, I would have posted this sooner but I already posted a bonus chapter this week. I would gladly post more but I'm trying not to run out of story before I have time to finish it. Just for the record, this story currently has 17 chapters. I'm thinking I'll leave it there. The last chapter is almost finished, and I need to add stuff into chapter 15 or else you're getting like a 300 word chapter (yes, yes, I hear you boo-ing). For anyone who is curious, the last of my (important) papers is due Thursday, so after that I should have lots of time to write. **

Sitting in the chair by his bed she doesn't cry. Can't. She cries too much these days. She cried when the giant elastic finally gave way in the front of her jeans, cried in the fitting room when she realized she needed 3 sizes bigger. Cried when Sam made her watch that damn dog movie, cried when the little boy in the commercial for back pain medication got to play catch with his grandfather. She cried that morning when she burnt her toast, and then cried a little more when Sam offered her his. She had gone from the strong badass SRU officer to a sniffling sobbing mess in a matter of months. But this time she isn't going to cry.

This isn't about burnt toast or a poorly stitched pair of pants.

This is Sam.

She comes to accept the ass blistering chair by Sam's hospital bed as her home. She doesn't move unless absolutely necessary, i.e. when she needs to pee every hour or when food is necessary. She only leaves once to hit up the small grocery store across from the hospital for food, the rest of the time she relies on other people. Sarge brings her a sandwich from the deli near the station, Ed brings her some soup from the Timmies across the street. She hasn't had a full meal since breakfast of the day he was shot. They lecture her for not eating enough and she simply ignores them because she is doing the best she can, and is practically forcing herself to eat even though she has no appetite. If she weren't pregnant, she's sure she wouldn't have eaten a damn thing. Food wouldn't be a priority, still isn't for her. She only bothers because of the baby - it doesn't deserve that kind of neglect, especially when it may be about to lose a parent.

Her throat aches from from talking. She never shuts up. Someone fed her some crap about how people in Sam's _condition_ can often hear if you speak to them. She doesn't believe it for a second, because she doesn't remember a damn thing from when she was shot and unconscious and that totally sounds like something Sam would fall for. Still, she talks. Not to him, exactly. It's more that she's praying to him. She alternates pleas to God with ones to Sam, demanding he come back because he doesn't get to abandon them like this. It comes naturally to her, feels eerily similar to trying to talk a jumper down.

"I don't even know why I'm doing this, if you're even listening or if you can even hear me, but please, Sam, you have to wake up."

She's sure her words are falling on deaf ears, and closes her eyes tight in hopes that if she keeps them closed long enough all will be right in her world when she opens them. She keeps hold of his hand and raises it within her own, resting her chin on them.

"Please," she whispers with a kiss into their joined hands and the first tear finally falls. Then the second. She clenches her eyes shut harder in hopes that they'll stop but it's useless. She might have thought she was out of tears but as it turns out they've just been hiding before coming back with a vengeance. The baby, who has been fairly calm through the whole ordeal, must know she's crying because it's suddenly letting out all it's anger in the form of a few swift kicks to her ribs. She removes one of her hands from his and rubs at the place where the kick came from, inhaling deeply to try and steady herself. It doesn't work, and the exhale comes out as an uncontrolled sob, which of course just invites another. Husband in one hand and baby bump in the other she's shaken with sobs because it's really hitting her now. No one has been able to tell her when, or if, Sam will come to, which leaves her with an unborn baby and a half empty marital bed. Her entire family, her entire world, is in the room with her and yet she's impossibly alone. She wants to tell Sam about how the baby must be practicing hand to hand because it keeps throwing punches into her side and kicks into her ribs. More than that she wants to see the look on his face as his hands move swiftly over her belly in hopes of feeling every movement. She wants to see that look of jealousy that comes along with his realization that this is what she feels all day as she sits in the truck and he chases down subjects. He doesn't even look like himself in that bed. He's pale - not just _Sam_ pale, but _mid-winter, night shifts, haven't seen daylight in a month Sam_ pale. His face is a shadow of it's usual self and she barely wants to look at it. She wants to see his eyes, to hear his voice. She wants him to wake up just so that she can tell him how much she hates hospitals and he can spew his crap about how they aren't so bad. She needs to hear that. She needs him to be the one to tell her that.

She just needs him.

She's drawn out of her thoughts by some kind of alarm. At first she's confused but then realizes what it is. The machine she recognizes to be monitoring Sam's heart rate is having some kind of an attack, and suddenly team one has left it's place in the hallway to join her in the room. There's a rush of medical personnel who bring with them a loud discussion involving numbers and anagrams and a tone that tells her this isn't good. Someone is demanding she let go of his hand and she can't, isn't sure she can ever actually let go of his hand. The same person tells her they need the room, but she's glued to the chair, unable to move. They keep calling her _Ma'am_, as if she's some disgruntled customer in a grocery store, when all she wants to do is stay with her husband, her Sam. Why can't she just stay with him? Suddenly, there are arms around her and Spike and Ed are all but dragging her out of the room, telling her she has to let them do their job. She loses fight somewhere around the doorway and is lead to a chair down the hall where she simply buries her head in her hands and sobs some more as her team takes over the surrounding chairs and silently promises to be there for her


	13. Consciousness

**A/N: Ok… This is a short chapter. Sorry. I'll make it up to you though, because at some point late Thursday night or Friday I'll post the next chapter, which also isn't terribly long but I'll hopefully have time to do some work on it. its looking like my entire university career has come down to mass amounts of papers and presentations, all taking place/due today and tomorrow… anyways, all that to say I'm sorry its short and I'll update as fast as possible after tomorrow.**

* * *

><p>He can hear most of what's going on. There's someone else in the room, a steady beep coming from the right, or maybe the left. He's on something. Meds. Painkillers from the feel of things. Or, lack of feel. He's practically floating, high out of his mind. He vaguely remembers hearing a series of shots, but after that it's mostly a blur. He remembers panicking - something to do with Jules. Was she shot? Is that why he panicked? If she was shot then the baby…<p>

No. That can't be right. If _she_ was shot, why is _he_ high? Maybe he couldn't cope. That would explain the medication. Maybe he's blocked it out because it was just too painful to know that his family was at stake like that.

He's holding someone's hand.

No. Thats not right.

Someone is holding _his_ hand.

That's when it occurs to him what must have happened. _He_ was shot. Not her. That's better, though it doesn't help his state of mind much. He still doesn't know how it happened, when the situation escalated from a suspected prank caller to shooting a cop. He's not sure where he was shot, or how many times, but if he's on as much pain medication as he thinks he is then it certainly missed the vest. That clears up the beeping noise - it's his own heart monitor. Oh god, they need to make sure his heart is still beating. This isn't good. Jules is going to yell. He knows she is. Here he's been worrying about her and the baby for the past 6 months, panicking anytime she so much as broke a nail, and yet he's the one who got shot. She's going to be pissed. She must already be pissed. Right now she's probably rehearsing her lecture over and over in her mind. _Why would you do that? I told you to be careful and yet there you go and get shot. When will you start to think of anyone but yourself? _Ok, so maybe he's more lecturing himself because she wouldn't quite say that, but he's sure she's not impressed.

There's a sniffle from somewhere in the room and for a moment he thinks he's imagining it.

_"Sam don't you dare give up on me. You don't get to leave like this. We're not done yet."_

He's definitely imagining things. The voice is desperate, pleading, fearful. He recognizes the tone - it mirrors his own from when Jules was shot a few years back. Jules isn't like him though, she's strong, logical. If the doctors said he'd be ok she'd take it at that. No need to sit by his bedside, toying with his fingers, begging him to come back to her, praying desperately. Toying with his fingers. Its real. The voice is real. Through his drug induced haze he only thinks it's her voice, but he's sure he can feel her there. But if Jules is sitting by his bed bargaining with God to have him back then things are worse than he thought. Much worse. He's awake though, right? He can't possibly be that bad off if he's awake. He knows she's in the room, he can hear her, feel her presence, feel her fingers wrapped around his. He can't see though, can't bring himself to respond. There's something keeping him from speaking, he thinks maybe they shoved a tube down his throat at some point. His eyes are shut… he thinks. He's not sure how to open them. Her hand is still caressing his as her desperate pleas reach his ears once more. He's sure he can grab her hand back. Of course he can. Ok. Maybe just a flinch. Something to let her know he's still there, he's listening, he's not going anywhere. It's not happening. He's screaming inside because he can't figure out how to get a message out to her and it's killing him.

The beeping is speeding up, her hand is clenching his harder. There's more people in the room now and past _He's coding_ he has no idea what's being said. The sounds overwhelm him and he feels his hand fall from hers as noise turns to silence and he's alone in the darkness.

* * *

><p>"How's he doing?"<p>

"Honestly, he keeps coding. They said he's in rough shape physically, going to need a lot of rehabilitation and time for it to heal, and his heart keeps going crazy and we get shooed out of the room."

"Jules?"

"She's been sitting with him ever since he got out of surgery, with the exception of every time he codes and I have to practically carry her out of the room. What about you? How're you doing?"

"Just got off the phone with my mom. She's a wreak. She's already put one kid in the ground and she's reliving it. We both are. I can't go to another sibling's funeral." There's a pause, a sigh. "What about the baby? What's Jules supposed to do if he doesn't…"

"Would you two please stop talking about me like I'm not here?" She doesn't even look at them, she's too focused on the subtle rise and fall of Sam's chest. She can tell they seem surprised, as if they thought that having their conversation in the doorway would shield what they were saying from her. "He'll be fine, Nat." She sighs a little, and adds with a whisper, "he has to be."


	14. Wake

**A/N: Ok, again not very long. And I'm not a huge fan of this chapter. It's the one that makes me think I might have been better off not killing Sam. Funerals bring awkward tension. Totally joking. Ok, I'll let you read it now so you can see for yourself.**

* * *

><p>The next time he comes around things are a little clearer. Someone must have lowered the pain meds. Either that or it's been so long that he's developing a tolerance. There's a scary thought. He's aware of the smell this time - disinfectant, Jules, and…bagels?<p>

This time his first priority is to open his eyes. He'll focus all his energy on that and at least then she'll know he's awake. _Ok, now where are my eyes_? It takes more thought than he's proud of.

"You should really finish that."

"I'm not hungry."

Jules is there. So is Spike. There's a clicking of heels, which tells him Natalie is there too.

"Jules you should really think about going home to get some sleep."

"Not tired."

"Jules seriously, just go with Nat to her apartment, crash on the couch for an hour or two. I'll still be here, I promise I'll call if anything changes."

"No thank you."

"Fine. I'm going to walk Nat out but when I come back we're picking this back up."

He's sure he can hear Jules rolling her eyes. He hears the other two leave and feels her pick his hand back up. His mouth is so dry… he flicks his tongue about and realizes there's no tube this time. If he coded last time he was awake, and they've since removed the tube, he must be getting better.

Wait, that means he can speak.

His lips part but only air comes out. He closes his mouth, prepares to try again. He can do this. Has to. He can't pass out again without her knowing he woke up.

"Jules," he whispers, finally forcing out the word, along with the forced action of opening his eyes halfway.

Her eyes shoot wide and a high pitched sound escapes her mouth.

"Jules," he whispers again, simply because he can. He likes to say her name.

As his eyes open further he sees she's regained most of her usual composure and, as expected, she's trying to seem unimpressed.

"You just couldn't stand the idea of me having time off without you, could you?"

He tries to smile but his lips begin to crack at the action, and he's reminded of how thirsty he is. "Yeah… exactly… water?"

He relaxes as he lets her tilt his head forward and he takes a few sips.

"Thanks…what happened?" he asks, nearly afraid to hear the answer.

"Genius came out of a closet, managed to get four shots off at you before Raf got him."

"Four?" Somehow it never occurred to him there were so many.

"You took two to the vest, one grazed your left shoulder, and the other… it hit just above where the vest ends between your neck and right shoulder. That was 3 days ago."

He pauses, takes it all in. 2 hit his vest… he must have some broken ribs. Explains some of the pain when he breathes. One grazed his shoulder, thats not so bad. It'll leave a mark, but it's not so bad. The other… well, he's going to be off work for a while. 3 days ago… he's missed 3 days. Jules is still in her work clothes… "Have you been here the whole time?"

"Of course."

"I heard you. I woke up and I could hear you…" he gives a slight smile then gives her a stern look. "You haven't been home?"

Her face tenses and he's sure she knows where he's going with this, and sure she isn't going to like it.

"Jules you need to go home and rest. You can't just sleep in a chair for 3 days." She raises an eyebrow and he's not in the mood to argue with her. "Ok, fine. Do I have clothes here or do I have to stay in this dress?"

She locks her jaw and they have a brief staring contest before she surrenders. "Fine. I'll be back soon." With a kiss to his forehead she bolts from the room, passing Spike on her way.

"Hey buddy, glad to see you're up. Where's Jules off to?"

Sam takes a deep breath, closing his eyes as the fog from the pain meds begin to creep back in. "To get me clothes from home. Do me a favour?"

"Go with her and make sure she sleeps while she's there?"

He manages a small nod and Spike assures him he will before following Jules out. A full conversation this time, and last time he couldn't make his finger flinch. He must be getting better, he tells himself, and smiles as he drifts back to sleep.

* * *

><p>"Spike, you didn't have to come with me."<p>

"Well, as I pointed out in the car you didn't exactly have a way to get here without me driving you."

"I could have taken the bus."

"Sure. Go find Sam some stuff so we can get going."

"Don't have to tell me twice."

Spike makes himself comfortable on the living room sofa, patiently waiting while Jules paces the house trying to find everything she thinks Sam might want or need. He gets up once to help her get something off the top shelf of the hall closet, then wanders back out to the kitchen. Scanning the fridge he decides he and Natalie are going to need to keep an eye on the grocery situation for Jules while Sam's in the hospital. It's quiet for a while and he decides he should check on Jules. Stopping at the doorway he peers into the room. There's clothes everywhere. From the looks of things Jules was having a difficult time picking out things to bring for Sam. That's probably why she's now laying on their bed, hugging what must be Sam's pillow as she sleeps.

In spite of the fact that Jules looks like she's been crying he smiles to himself because at least he's gotten her to go to sleep. Mission accomplished. Walking back out to the kitchen he checks the clock, confirms that there will be enough time for Jules to nap before heading back to the hospital to see Sam. He calls up Natalie, makes plans for the two of them to have dinner with Jules since she's not likely going to be allowed to sleep in Sam's room again tonight.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: See, he woke up. Also, I hate the part at the house w/Spike… And I hate how short this chapter is. AND I hate how I just realized that Chapter 15 is like 300 words and therefore requires a full revamp/rewrite. And I've been too busy sleeping to do any work on it… doubting my ability to post tomorrow… but I'll write tomorrow night because I don't work on Easter, so it might only be like a day late. I know, I know Tirsh, hurting people.**


	15. Frustration

**A/N: So, last chapter got Sam awake, so that's good. I'm way too amused by all the responses to the a/n in that chapter... 'she's a lying liar that lies!' love it... I'm too cruel...**

**Apologies for the delay… I've been busy sleeping and thinking up my 'next' Jam fic… my brain doesn't seem to care that I have unfinished fics out there... Also, not a very long chapter, quite filler-y, almost cut it but felt the need to plop something in to fill some time. The next one is longer, and I'll be nice and post that tonight too. Oh, and, try not to send me virtual punches, I'm pretty sure this fic only has about another 2 chapters in it. *sadface* yeah... I know...**

* * *

><p>The house is oddly empty without him there. She tries to avoid it, but once visiting hours are over and the team isn't on shift for her to stop by and say 'hey', she's really got no other options. She'd maintained that she didn't want to take maternity leave until necessary, claiming she wanted to maximize the time she got to spend off with the baby, so Sarge weaselled through the paperwork and found her some vacation time and sick days she hadn't taken. So she spends her days at the hospital, arguing with Sam about what he should and should not be doing. Tired of the bed he's started insisting on walking around, which she worries about simply because if he runs into trouble she's not exactly in a position to be supporting him physically. The rest of the time they bicker - about anything and everything. Baby names, car seats, anniversary plans. It's all up for debate these days. She knows his frustration comes from being confined to a hospital room, a feeling she's all too familiar with. She tries to be supportive, be the positive one and remind him that soon enough he'll be home, but her own frustration tends to take over. Her own frustration with her empty house, her injured husband. Her life in general.<p>

It's weird for her. A few short years ago she'd go home to an empty house every night and it wouldn't bother her a bit. She'd cook a meal made for one, maybe sit back in a bath with a book, maybe watch a movie if she was feeling particularly lazy. Nap on the couch, clean through her midnight bouts of insomnia. Yet somehow things had changed - she let _him_ in, and got used to always having another person in the house. She'd gotten used to having someone to cook for, someone to think about before using all the hot water, someone to consider when picking out a movie. She'd let him in and now she missed him, but it was more than that that frustrated her. It was the realization that maybe she did need him, and not just in the because she loves him kind of way. It was the role he'd taken on in her life.

She'd stared at the kitchen chair for a good ten minutes before deciding against it. Against standing on the chair to get the strainer off the top of the cupboards. Of course, Sam always gets that for her. And now, without him there, she couldn't even manage to make herself some damn pasta. Well, she wasn't going to stand for such nonsense. She'd make it, with or without the damn strainer.

Which is how the pot, noodles and all, ended up on the kitchen floor. Sure, she'd happily managed to miss herself in the spill of the near boiling water, but she'd also ruined her dinner.

Pissed off, she let the noodles sit there, swirling in the puddle as it made it's way across the floor. Why bother cleaning it? It's not like anyone else would see… Except that that's not the way Jules works. With a groan, she grabbed the mop from the hall closet and set to work cleaning up her mess. Bitching to herself the entire time. _All Sam's fault._ She told him not to put anything up there, but he just wouldn't listen. She should have thought of that before they bought the house, and made sure not to buy one with cupboards she couldn't reach on her own. Then again, she never imagined this level of dependency.

Floor clean she sits at the kitchen table, contemplating starting over with the pasta. It's too much effort, she decides, and opts to make herself a sandwich because that's about all that she has the energy for. Begrudgingly, she makes pb&j, heavy on the J of course, and brings it with her to bed. Sure, Sam would never let her hear the end of it after all the time she'd spent bitching at him for eating in bed, but he's not there now, is he? She sets the plate on the bed as she rummages for something to wear to bed - something that she can put on by herself. After all, getting dressed was just one more thing she'd come to rely on Sam to help her do.

She has bouts of anger all throughout the day, silently wishes she could do some real damage to a punching bag without risking it coming back to smack her in the belly just to relieve some of her frustration. Tonight though, it's different. Tonight she's just sad. Sad about Sam having to spend so much time in the hospital, sad about having to eat alone, sad about the noodles that made a home all over her kitchen floor. And so, she sits in their bed, infomercials flickering across the long since forgotten tv, crying into her peanut butter and jam sandwich.

* * *

><p>He's beginning to see why Jules hates hospitals. He hates not being able to do anything for himself. Thanks to the broken ribs his arms have limited mobility, and he can't dress himself. If Jules is around she'll help him into his shirt, but if she's not he has to rely on a nurse to do it. He's not sure which bothers him more - help from a stranger, or help from his wife who needs help into her own clothes half the time. He knows she's been missing him, because her wardrobe now only consists of things she can easily slip on by herself. The doctor wanted to keep him for a month so he could start physical therapy while he's still in the hospital. He told him hell no, that he needs to get home for Jules and the baby, and managed to weasel it down to three weeks. As excited as he is to get home to his own bed, he's worried about what it means for Jules. She's all about taking care of him, has been spending most of her waking hours in his hospital room instead of taking the naps he knows she needs. He only hopes that once he's back home he can make sure she gets some rest instead of driving back and forth from the hospital, though he suspects she'll still be busy concerning herself with his well-being.<p> 


	16. Sleepless

**A/N: Ok this is long. Approx. 2200 words, not including this note. Be happy. Oh, and a lot of stuff happens. Seriously, I hope this doesn't seem... rushed because of all the stuff I put in it. And, lil' tidbit because I feel like sharing, the leg swinging hurting in sleep thing (you'll see), is based on a true story: my boyfriend had abdominal surgery a few years back and I forgot in my sleep and well, lets just say there were a few not so G-rated words thrown out there. **

**Oh, and I drop 1 (I think only 1) F bomb in this chapter. Not really in a _crude_ way, more just as an expression of sorts... well, you've been warned. **

* * *

><p>A week or so out of the hospital Sam's finally able to settle into a routine. He's had to buy tiny weights to help with his physical therapy, the act of which sent waves of shame through his body as he asked a guy half his age, and size, where the smaller ones were in the store. So ashamed he nearly piped up that he was recovering from gunshots because he's just that badass before Jules found her way to him and the younger man seemed to assume they were for her. Huge sigh of relief for him, indignant glare for the salesperson from Jules. Working out isn't nearly as fun as it used to be; he used to feel pumped, psyched even, after a workout, but now each curl of his arm is pain ridden and leaves him shaking from the strain. He knows he's getting better, hasn't stopped a workout prematurely since the second or third day, but he's frustrated as hell.<p>

He's sick of being off work. Sure, he gets to spend his entire day with Jules, but he can tell they're both missing the action. They've heard from Spike that the team has pulled someone off team five to fill his spot while he's gone, or at least until they officially choose someone to take Jules' spot for the year she's entitled to take off. They have near daily visits from team members, sometimes in pairs, sometimes solo, where they both beg the teammate in question to fill them in on the day's events. Jules has sworn that if she hears the phrase 'can't comment on an ongoing investigation' one more time she's going to scorpio someone's ass. He's offered to load the gun for her.

They're both spending a lot of time in the baby's room. It's become a constant source of excitement in their house and he's pretty sure they're quickly becoming smothering parents. Every second day they're off to a store in search of something they forgot last time. The room has been organized and reorganized. It's also been a great learning experience - the first night they learned not to let Jules sit on the floor because she's near incapable of getting up on her own and she certainly outweighs the ten pound limit he's been restricted to. Since then they've added an ottoman to match the rocking chair, just so that they both have a place to sit while they fuss over where to put which clothes.

By far the biggest challenge is sleeping. After the first night, when he ended up sleeping in a living room chair because he couldn't quite get comfortable lying down, they went out and bought all new pillows. While that's been helpful, he still isn't sleeping well. Jules is conscious of him and tries her best to stay on her side of the bed, but in her sleep she has a tendency to gravitate towards him in hopes of swinging an arm or a leg across him. Adorable as she is, having her carelessly swing a leg across his slowly healing ribs is a less than pleasant experience.

Tonight though, her legs aren't the problem. She's keeping to her own side of the bed, though she's tossing and turning like mad. He almost wonders if she's dreaming she's a rotisserie chicken. She's up nearly every hour on the hour to go pee, and has told him she's barely sleeping to begin with so he's welcome to watch tv or keep a light on to read. She must know he can't get to sleep himself. Aside from the constant movement on the opposite side of the bed, his own brain is keeping him up. He's been trying to do the math on his recovery, and at the rate he's going he's worried he might not be any help with the baby. Jules' impending due date isn't making things any less stressful. He's limited to ten pounds… ok, so provided he can bend his arms the right way he can most likely hold the baby, but what about a carrier or a car seat? Is Jules going to have to install that herself? Not that it makes much of a difference since she'd probably insist he was doing it wrong and take over anyway, but he'd like to know he's not useless. It's a little early to be a deadbeat dad. What if he can't hold up a bottle long enough to feed the baby? He had never planned on making Jules do all the work, and if he's off work too they should be able to take turns getting up at all hours to look after their child.

He's also stuck on names. He's comfortable calling it 'baby' while it's still inside Jules, but what about once it's out? _It_ needs a name. Suddenly he's worrying that maybe they should have found out the sex. To quote Spike, they need to know if it's a Michael or a Michaela. He rolls his eyes - Spike's desperate to make his mark as an uncle in the form of a name. Natalie is no better, suggesting Natalia or Nathan, which only solidifies what he and Jules already knew: she and Spike are perfect for each other.

The only thing they've really decided is that there will be no Michaela, Michael, Natalia, or Nathan. If it's a boy, Jules tentatively suggested the middle name Matthew, implicitly in honour of Sam's departed best friend. Sam quickly vetoed that idea, pointing out that if they're going to do that, they need to add Lewis in there and two middle names seems to border on child abuse. For a girl, she asked if he would want to name her after his sister who passed away as a child. He then established a new rule: no names of people they know. Restrictive as it seems, he's pretty sure it's only fair that their child has his or her own name. That and the names bring about certain emotions he's not willing to associate with their child.

Returning from yet another trip to the bathroom Jules rolls his way and gives him a pouty face.

He frowns back at her. "Still can't sleep, eh?"

"Nope. And I don't think you're going to get to lunch with the guys today."

He gives a small laugh - he'd forgotten about that. The rest of the team has been insisting he join them and Wordy for burgers without Jules, something about needing man time. He finally gave in and made plans, finally coming to the conclusion that Jules has been dying to get him out of the house anyways. "Wait, why not?" He's not hurt, just a little confused.

She bites her lip, fidgets in her spot again trying to get comfortable. "Because I'm pretty sure I've been having contractions all night."

* * *

><p>He's amazed at how calm Jules is. The second he heard the word contractions he'd lost his mind, rambling on about needing to leave. She told him to relax, that she could tell things weren't really <em>there<em> yet and according to her many, _many_, books on the subject, she still had some time before they needed to get her to a hospital. He's agreed to let her make that call, for now, though he's still not calm. Foot dancing in mid air as it dangles off the edge of the bed, he flips through his own books trying to review what happens next, and what he should be doing. He can hear Jules finishing up in the bathroom where she'd turned to hot water to sooth her aching back after she'd grown tired of his massage techniques. Water is being turned off, and he can hear her footsteps through the room as she dries off. He briefly wonders if he should be going to help her into her clothes, but noting the pile on the chair in their room he realizes she forgot bring the ones she picked out in with her. She's still got the worst pregnancy brain. No big deal though, he'll help her when she comes in in her fuzzy pink bathrobe, a view he never tires of.

A few minutes later she walks into the room clad in pink fuzz as expected, but pauses in the doorway. "Sam?"

"On the chair," he tells her, starting to sit up. "Don't worry, I'll help you into them."

She shakes her head and he tilts his in confusion. Usually he'd figure she was aiming to get lucky, but that doesn't seem likely given their current situation. "What's going on?"

She exhales hard, looks him in the eye. "I think my water just broke."

His eyes widen and he sits up so fast he's sure he pulled something, maybe tore a stitch. "Are you sure?"

She groans, cringes as she rubs her belly. "Yes, yes I'm sure."

That's all he needs and he's off the bed, racing frantically through the house. "We have to leave. Now."

"Now? I'm not sure about that. I think we might still have some time…"

It's like someone just hit him with a frying pan and he comes to a halt in the hallway, halfway through struggling to put his own sock on. "What?"

She shrugs. "Well it only just broke, and the books all seem to say its possible that-"

"Books? Seriously? No, we're going to the hospital. I don't care if you like it or not." Jules and her books - she'll do anything to get out of seeing a doctor. He grabs her by the hand with his good arm and is practically dragging her down the hall to the front door, letting go when he spots her shoes and tells her to sit so he can start trying to get them on her.

"Can I at least get dressed first?"

He looks up from where he's kneeling in front of her, all the confusion in the world descending upon his brain. "What's wrong with what you've got on?"

He watches as she gives him a _you idiot _glare. "I'm in a bathrobe, Sam. I'm not even wearing any underwear."

* * *

><p>Having employed sniper breathing techniques, Sam managed to hide his own panic until Jules was finally ready to go to the hospital. Relieved as he was, Jules agreeing to go to a hospital set off it's own set of panic signals. The doctors decided to admit her, given that her contractions were at least becoming more regular, but they've given him fair warning that it could still be a while. He's fine with that, he promises he is, but every time Jules winces or calls him out of his half sleeping state in the chair by the bed he jolts and demands answers from her. He's driving her crazy, and she's not keeping it a secret, but he can't help it.<p>

She's holding up like a champ, keeping the pain in check, saying all she really needs is a massage. He's happy to abide, glad she's finally moved past the point of wanting him to 'get the fuck out of here'. He's thankful his massage techniques are honed to such an extent that he really only needs one hand. The other he leaves alone to ache from all the excitement of their earlier drive to the hospital. The doctor comes in to check on Jules' progress, and he takes the opportunity to step outside to make the phone calls.

One is to the station, where he gives Sarge the heads up and promises to keep him updated if anything changes. Next is Natalie, who is pissed she wasn't called earlier and demands a room number so she can come camp out at the hospital. Finally, he calls his mom. She gushes on the phone about how excited she is about her first grandbaby making its foray into the world before drilling him with questions about what's happening and how often, has _this_ happened, has Jules felt _that _yet. It does nothing to calm him down.

Assured that while things have progressed they're still not quite _ready_ yet, Sam resumes the task of being Jules' personal masseur.

"I'm tired of this."

He frowns, is sure she's impugning his massage skills so he stops.

"No, not that. Tired of labour. Seriously, it's been like six hours. Time to move on to the next part."

He rolls his eyes because he's pretty sure she'll regret that statement just as soon as the contractions start to really mean business. At least then the epidural debate will be over and he'll get to see once and for all if she gives in like he predicted.

* * *

><p>Three <em>real <em>contractions in she's said the word and it's done. She can see him trying so hard not to laugh it's a miracle he hasn't had to excuse himself from the room. She knows, or at least hopes, that his amusement is not with her pain but with her own dismay with having been proven wrong by her own body, but his smirk is pissing her off.

"What are _you_ smiling at?" she spits.

"Nothing. I'm excited."

She stares him down, raises a skeptical eyebrow. "Oh? About what?"

"About us having a baby," he tells her, all too quickly.

"Uh huh. And it has nothing to do with the fact that you were right about the epidural?"

She watches, unimpressed, as he sits up in his chair grinning. "Can I hear that again?"

"Excuse me?"

"The part about me being right. Can I hear that again?"

"Don't push it."


	17. Meet Jam Baby

**A/N: Let me start by saying I hope you all enjoy my super imaginative and mysterious title for this chapter. It took me all of 5 seconds to create. I'm super depressed this story is done. First time I've actually 'completed' a story... awkward. Was hoping to squeeze another 2 chapters out of it but for the sake of all of our sanity I'll just keep it as one decent length chapter. Apologies to _KateEals_, not only does McDreamy not make an appearance in this chapter but unicorns and rainbows do. If anyone cares, I've got a nagging feeling that means I need to work on my other stories which I've greatly neglected for months now, so I'll be updating those in May at some point. Also, I've got another story half started, but I'll make sure I can get a few more chapters out of it before posting (like I did with this one). AND. I *may* have started a sequel to this story, though I'm not entirely sure I'm going to be able to carry through with it... I'm completely open to suggestions/opinions on the matter. **

**Chapter contains Fluff. Don't choke on it. Choking is bad.**

* * *

><p>It's quiet. Well, as quiet as a hospital can be. Sneakers squeak against floor, doors moan as they drift shut, freshly manicured nails drum against an armrest until a hand stops them from doing so. Meaningless comments are exchanged over the current happenings at guns &amp; gangs. Bald heads are rubbed, eyes scrunched shut and forcefully reopened in an effort to starve off the sleep that threatens. It's been a while since they've heard anything, though boredom has yet to set in. Instead, shoes tap, knuckles pop, magazines are flipped through then tossed aside in an anxiety ridden waiting room. The group takes turns pacing, repositioning themselves, taking turns going for walks in search of coffee, snacks; anything to take their minds off of the tormented game of musical chairs they seem to be playing.<p>

In a room down the hall the scene is quite different. They sit, staring at each other in disbelief over what has just happened. Sam shifts in his place as he stands at the beside, too unsteady to stand but too anxious to sit down. Jules picks up on it, relieves him of the object of his shock and instructs him to sit down. He reluctantly obeys, and moves to bring the chair closer to the bed. The chair lets off a high pitched squeal and in his sleep deprived state he panics, picks it up hurriedly, and all but slams it down on the floor next to the bed.

"Nice."

"Sorry."

The noisy intrusion is quickly forgotten as it's replaced by the world's smallest sound, the source of which turns out to be a tiny yawn. They both smirk at the source, the tiny infant snuggly tucked into the crook of Jules' arm.

"He looks just like you."

"I don't have dark hair."

She rolls her eyes and briefly considers repositioning the baby so she can smack Sam upside the head. She decides against it - it would take too long and with men, as with dogs, punishment needs to be immediate or he won't understand the point. "Ok, so the hair is mine. But the rest is all you."

Sam regains some of his composure for a moment and leaves the world's loudest chair in favour of sitting on the edge of the bed, facing Jules. There's an awkward dance as the baby is moved from mother to father, both parents overcompensating for fear of failing to support the head. As the awkwardness fades and the newborn settles into place, he simply smiles at the familiar face looking up at him. Those are definitely Braddock eyes, but the rest he's sure is all Jules.

"He's less than ten pounds," he smiles.

"Yeah, thank god," Jules smirks.

He gives a small chuckle, shakes his head. "I meant it's good because it means I can pick him up. That means I can help with him."

"Somehow I don't think a weight restriction was going to stop you." She laughs along with him and they both turn their attention to the baby who is drifting between sleep and wake. "We still need a name."

He nods, chances a glance at the baby names book on the floor across the room. Recalling how it got there he cringes only slightly, hoping not to have to retrieve it after what happened. "I don't think there's any good names in that book."

Jules smiles, rubs a finger along her son's cheek. "Sam, it's called the Big Book of Names, it's got to have something…"

He raises an eyebrow at her choice of words - seems to him he said those exact words to her less than an hour ago…just before she threw the book at his head.

She catches his line of thought and gives up. "Ok, no book. Do you have any ideas?"

He simply shrugs, too busy admiring a tiny nose and playing with tiny fingers to think.

Jules leans forward seeking a closer look at the baby. "What about Noah?"

"Hmm?" His thoughts are interrupted and he tosses a look towards the door in search of the doctor she's referring to.

She gives another eye roll as he gives her a confused look. "For the baby's name."

"Really?"

She gives a small smile. "He looks like a Noah. Besides, you seem to like that name."

He pauses a moment, thinks it over as he looks at the baby, then nods. "I do like that name."

There's a few more minutes of pause as the two coo at their new son, telling him his name, asking if he likes it as if he can already answer. Finally, Jules straightens up in realization. "Oh my god, Sam."

He doesn't even look up at her. He's too busy playing with tiny toes. "What?"

"The guys."

"What about the guys?" he asks in the same tone he's been using to talk to Noah.

"Um, should we tell them about the baby?"

Sam freezes in his spot. It's been at least an hour since he updated the team on anything. As far as they know Jules is still in labour and he's still being yelled at. When last he left them both Sarge and Ed were pacing the length of the waiting room. There's bound to be holes in the floor by now. "Yeah, we should probably do that." He smiles, and they do their awkward dance in an effort to pass the baby back to Jules.

"Wait," she stops him, peering around him to the chair beside the bed. "Let me have your hoodie."

"Why?" he asks, slowly handing it to her.

She rolls her eyes as she slips her arms into it. "Because my coworkers are about to come in here and I'm in pyjamas. It's just weird," she tells him, zipping up the sweater before reaching out for the baby. "Ok, you can go tell them now."

* * *

><p>"How long's it been?"<p>

"Sam said they got here around 5 this morning."

"Geesh."

Raf groans, stretching as he gets up. "It's dinnertime and I'm starving. Food, anyone?"

There's a series of nods and a list is made before he and Wordy start collecting everyone's money.

Sam wanders out into the hall, gives a confused look at the exchange happening in front of him. "What, are you guys placing bets out here?"

"Just food orders. But bets… that would definitely liven this up," Spike realizes out loud, garnering him a reproachful glare from Natalie. "Well it would," he defends.

Natalie simply rolls her eyes and turns her attention back to her brother. "How's Jules?"

"She's good. Everyone's good. Did you guys want to see the baby?"

Eyes widen across the room as they all realize the reason for Sam's venture out to the waiting room.

Ed scoffs, clearly a little peeved that the news wasn't the first thing to come out of Sam's mouth. "Nah. I mean, the 8 hour wait was clearly the main event and we can all go home now."

Sam can't be bothered to care, just smirks and turns to lead the way back to the room down the hall. He's sure that the second he left the room Jules dove for her purse and did some kind of makeover or something, because he's pretty sure he's never seen her look so good. Or maybe it has something to do with the smile and their son. He'll never know.

The crowd circles the bed, with Sarge the first one granted permission to hold the baby. The blue blanket gives away pretty quickly that it's a boy.

Spike smirks, turns to Natalie. "Guess there will be no dresses covered in unicorns or rainbows."

Natalie smirks back, still holding a baby clothes catalogue. "Guess we'll just have to save that for _our_ daughter."

With Spike paling Sarge gives a laugh, and changes the subject. "Does he have a name?"

Jules takes her eyes off the infant for a quick second to shoot a glance at Sam, who grins. "His name is Noah."

The crowd smiles, a gives satisfied sighs of approval as Sarge passes the baby to Spike. "You should know I'm only mildly hurt you didn't take my suggestion." Both parents roll their eyes but laugh it off as he moves on to cooing at the baby. After a few minutes, he reluctantly passed the sleeping child off to Natalie.

"He looks just like you, Jules. Sammy, are you sure he's yours?" At the unimpressed glare given by Sam, she decides to keep the conversation moving by passing the baby to Ed.

Giving the baby a once over and quickly gaging his weight, Ed gives the grin of a teen who's mid-practical joke. "Well then, he's just a little fella. Think he'll be short like you, Jules?"

Smiles instantly disappear from both Sam and Jules faces as Jules glares at Ed in horror. "Oh god I hope not."

The rest of the team laughs, and the Braddock baby is handed off to Wordy, who pokes fun at all the daughters in their SRU family. "So, this is what a baby boy looks like? Weird…"

Taking his turn holding the baby, Raf smirks and builds on Wordy's comment. "Well, at least there'll be lots of girls around when he starts dating."

Sam gives a small laugh in response to the joke, which only earns him filthy glares from both Ed and Wordy. "What? Guys, it was just a joke…"

* * *

><p>"Sam, this feels wrong."<p>

"Shh Jules, it's fine. This was your idea, remember?"

"I know, it's just… maybe we shouldn't be…"

Sam sighs, and pops the final corner of the screen out of the window frame. "We're in," he whispers, holding a finger to his lips to remind Jules to keep it down.

"Finally," she comments, pushing past him and into the dimly lit room. "Hi handsome," she grins, leaning over the edge of the crib. From his half sleeping state the newest Braddock giggles his approval of his visitor.

Sam quietly laughs to himself as he joins Jules at the side of the bed. "Oh Noah… I think someone missed Mommy and Daddy…" he coos, using a finger to tickle the baby's chin.

"I told you he would be missing us."

"Huh? Oh, yeah. Did you miss your dada? Can you say Dada? I think you should say Dada."

"He's six weeks old, Sam. He's not nearly ready to say Dada." Jules rolls her eyes, silently swatting Sam upside the head. "Besides, if he is going to say something, it's going to be Momma. Isn't that right baby boy? You're going to say Momma first, aren't you?"

Sam just smiles back, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her closer. "I love you."

"I love you too," she smiles, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek.

"I want another one."

"Another kiss?"

"Nah," he smiles, nods towards where Noah is busy kicking an invisible soccer ball in his crib. "Another baby."

She smiles, raising an eyebrow in question as he starts trailing kisses down the side of her neck. "Ok…wait, you weren't thinking right now were you?"

He smiles, shrugs. "Well, maybe not right away. Someday, definitely. For now we can always just practice…"

She laughs out loud before he presses a hand over her mouth to silence her. "Sorry!" she whispers, the pair quickly listening for any sign that they've been discovered.

Sam nods the all clear and they both breathe a silent sigh of relief. "Hey, does it bother you how easily we were able to get in here?"

Jules nods, attention back on the baby. "Yeah, we're calling the alarm company first thing in the morning."

"Good call."

"You two are pathetic." Two shocked officers spin around to see Spike standing in the doorway, shaking his head in judgment. "We offer to babysit so the two of you can go out for a nice dinner, _alone_, and you sneak in like a couple of common thieves to play with Noah when he's supposed to be sleeping. Honestly, what is it with you people?"

Only slightly bothered by being caught the two shrug, smile. "You'll get it someday," Sam assures him.

"Unbelievable," Natalie groans, joining Spike at the door to the room. "Are you two checking up on us or are you just that obsessed with your child?"

Sam and Jules both turn their attention to the crib and Spike and Natalie are little more than mosquitoes buzzing in their ears. "Can you blame us? He's just so…"

"Yeah ok well are you two going to go back out for dinner or are you just going to stay here?"

Sam and Jules don't even need to look at each other to figure out the answer to that one - they both knew what it would be the second they left the restaurant. "You two can go. We're home for the night."

There's a few more minutes of staring at their son after they hear the sound of Natalie and Spike leaving before Jules turns her attention to Sam. "Happy Anniversary, Mister Braddock."

He smiles, pulls her close to him. "Happy Anniversary, Mrs. Braddock."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Oh...wasn't that sappy... **

**Thank you to everyone who has been reading/reviewing! Means a lot to me that so many of you have stuck through this whole thing, even when I shot Sam and everyone was like 'omg she killed him', including the people who I took the time to PM to make sure they knew I love Sam and couldn't kill him. Seriously. Give me half a chance and I will steal him from Jules. He's just so yummy... ok, tangent. **


End file.
